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JUNGLE   DAYS 


Dr.  Arley  ISIunson 


JUNGLE   DAYS 

BEING  THE    EXPERIENCES   OF  AN 
AMERICAN  WOMAN  DOCTOR  IN  INDIA 


BY 


ARLEY  MUNSON,  M.D. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1913 


Copyright,  igi3,  by 
D.'APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


FOREWORD 

When  my  friends  ask  me :  "Why  did  you  leave  the 
splendid  opportunities  of  your  own  country  for  the 
discomforts  and  dangers  of  a  far-off  pagan  land?"  I 
feel  inclined  to  make  the  submissive  reply  heard  so 
frequently  from  the  lips  of  the  meek- voiced  women 
of  India:  "Kismet!  Adrushtam!  It, was  my  destiny. 
How  else  should  I  find  peace?" 

It  was  during  my  early  childhood  that,  on  turning 
the  leaves  of  a  mission  book,  I  found  an  illustration 
representing  a  Hindu  mother  throwing  her  baby  into 
the  gaping  jaws  of  a  crocodile,  as  a  sacrifice  to  the 
gods;  and  I  asked  my  mother  what  the  dreadful  pic- 
ture meant.  When  she  had  explained  it  to  me,  I  hid 
my  tearful  face  on  her  shoulder,  and,  my  heart  swell- 
ing with  sorrow  and  pity,  I  resolved  to  "hurry  and 
grow  up"  that  I  might  go  out  to  India  and  "save  those 
poor  little  babies." 

In  the  years  that  followed  I  learned  the  tragedy  of 
the  Indian  woman's  existence,  and  the  smoldering 
resolve  of  my  childhood  flamed  into  a  mature  and 
steady  determination  to  spend  a  part  of  my  life  prac- 
ticing medicine  and  surgery  in  India,  with  the  hope 
that  by  healing  the  body  I  might  reach  the  mind  and 

vii 


FOREWORD 

heart  and  lead  them,  if  ever  so  short  a  distance,  out  of 
the  darkness  of  ignorance  and  vice  that  surrounded 
them. 

My  medical  college  and  hospital  studies  completed, 
I  left  New  York  for  India. 

On  my  journey  to  India  and  during  the  five  years 
of  my  life  there  I  kept  a  fairly  accurate  record  of 
my  experiences,  from  which  record  the  present  book  is 
largely  taken. 

The  illustrations  are  from  photographs  of  the  actual 
persons  and  places  mentioned  in  my  story.  I  avail 
myself  of  this  opportunity  to  thank  Rev.  Charles  W. 
Posnett  of  Medak,  India,  for  his  cordial  and  generous 
permission  to  use  the  photographs  taken  in  his  dis- 
trict. 

I  have  touched  but  lightly  on  the  evangelical  side 
of  mission  life.  My  effort  to  rid  my  patients  of  phys- 
ical ailments  occupied  my  time  so  fully  that  I  was 
obliged  to  resign  their  spiritual  guidance  to  my  thor- 
oughly able  and  willing  colleagues. 

This  book,  then,  apart  from  rough  sketches  of 
scenes  as  they  came  before  me  in  my  travels  from 
Bombay  to  Calcutta,  from  Kashmir  to  Tuticorin,  is 
simply  a  glimpse  into  warmly  beating  human  hearts 
hidden  away  in  the  depths  of  Indian  jungle-villages, 
where  their  "Doctor  Mem  Sahib"  found  them,  loved 
them,  and  tried,  in  her  imperfect,  human  way,  to  help 
them. 

Though  at  times  the  thunders  of  defeat  and  tragedy 
almost   deafened   me,    rang   always    high   above   the 

viii 


FOREWORD 

tumult  the  clear,  sweet  note  of  that  happiness  promised 
in  Mr.  Kipling's  vision  of  the  future,  when  "...  no 
one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one  shall  work  for 
fame,  But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working  ..." 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGI 

I.   Bombay          ....         .■        > 

I 

II.   Life  at  Sholapur 

6 

III.  Wayside  Sketches        .         .         .         . 

i8 

IV.  The  City  of  Palaces    .         .         .         . 

22 

V.  Benares 

25 

VI.  Agra     ........ 

27 

VII.   Sholapur  Again 

31 

VIII.  Hyderabad              

33 

IX.  My  Indian  Home          .         .         .         . 

37 

X.  The  Rains 

46 

XI.  Our  Indian  Friends     .         .         .         . 

51 

Xll.  American  Thanksgiving  Day  in  Indi^ 

^         59 

XIII.  Christmas 

80 

XIV.  Dream  Days  Among  the  Himalayas 

82 

XV.   Back  to  the  Plains 

85 

XVI.  We  Go  A-Touring 

91 

XVII.  On  Horseback  and  Off 

103 

XVIII.   The  Jahtra          .... 

III 

XIX.  Rice  Christians  .... 

116 

XX.   God's  Out-of-Doors 

121 

XXI.   Off  to  Kashmir  .... 

133 

XXII.   Summer  Sightseeing    . 

142 

XXIII.  Women  of  India  .... 

153 

XXIV.  Jungle  Foes           .... 

168 

XXV.  New  Camping  Grounds 

173 

XXVI.  Mahorrum 

188 

XXVII.  An  April  Holiday 

195 

XXVIII.   Swadeshi 

200 

CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

XXIX.  To  THE  Hills  Away 

XXX.  Darjiling 

XXXI.  Hospital  Lights  and  Shades 

XXXII.  Young  Hopefuls  . 

XXXIII.  Penetrating  the  Wilds 

XXXIV.  Fantastic  Summer's  Heat 
XXXV.  Strenuous  Times 

XXXVI.  The  Cholera  Terror    . 
XXXVII.  Farewells    .         ,        r., 


PAGE 
209 
216 

224 
248 

267 
271 
285 

295 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FAcmo 

PAGE 


Dr.  Arley  Munson Frontispiece 

Medak  Dispensary,  vaccination  day 42 

Indian  carpenters  at  work 60 

String  bed  of  India,  the  common  sleeping  cot\     .     .  60 

In  the  Medak  Dispensary 7° 

Mahomedan  Madas  bringmg   gratitude   offering  of 

sheep  garlanded  with  flowers 7° 

Dr.  Munson  operating  in  Medak  Hospital ....  76 

Corner  of  medical  ward,  Medak  Hospital  ....  76 

Dora  Chatterjee ^^ 

Toddy-drawing ^^4 

Swing  bridge  of  Kashmir ^34 

Snake  charmers  and  jugglers ^34 

Kashmiri  women ^38 

Watering  the  rice-fields ^82 

Tree  ferns  in  India ^^^ 

Medak  Zevana  Hospital,  prayer  comer,  surgical  ward  226 

A  country  cart  stopping  at  Medak  Hospital     .     .     .  232 

Medak  touring  outfit ^32 

Boys'  playground,  Medak 250 

Giris'  playground,  Medak 250 

Medak  doctor  on  tour ^5" 

Medak  nurse  visiting  the  sick  in  a  palanquin  .     .     .  256 

Sunday  Bible  Class,  Medak 292 


JUNGLE  DAYS 


I 

BOMBAY 

BOMBAY  to-morrow  morning!"  exclaimed 
the  captain  cheerily  as  we  rose  from  din- 
ner, and  we  knew  our  long  voyage  was 
ended.  Ocean  life  and  ocean  friendships  had 
been  delightful,  but  that  last  evening,  instead  of 
the  usual  merry  gathering  on  deck,  everybody, 
busy  with  his  own  thoughts,  was  strangely  quiet. 
At  midnight  I  still  gazed  out  over  the  water, 
the  vast  loneliness  of  the  sea  sinking  into  my 
soul.  My  dream  of  work  in  India  would  soon 
be  reality.  For  years  I  had  heard  my  little  sisters 
of  India  calling  to  me  to  help  them,  and  now  I  was 
nearly  there.  The  thought  almost  overwhelmed 
me,  for  who  was  I  that  I  should  presume  to  teach 
others  how  to  live!  Deep  down  in  my  heart,  I 
longed — Oh,  so  desperately! — to  turn  traitor  to 
my  ideals  and  go  back  home.  But  this  was  cow- 
ardly indeed;  so,  stifling  a  sigh  which  was  half 

I 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

a  sob,  I  strengthened  myself  with  a  whispered, 
"No  more  backward  glances!  Eastward  ho!" 
and  went  to  my  stateroom,  where  I  had  a  com- 
forting good-night  chat  with  Sonubai. 

Sonubai  was  one  of  my  college  mates  who  was 
traveling  with  me  on  her  way  home  to  Sholapur. 
In  response  to  the  cordial  invitation  of  her  par- 
ents, Dr.  and  Mrs.  Keskar  (those  Brahmans  con- 
verted to  Christianity  who  did  such  noble,  self- 
sacrificing  work  among  the  sufferers  in  the  recent 
terrible  famines  and  who  later  became  the  medi- 
cal superintendents  of  a  Christian  orphanage  and 
leper  asylum  at  Sholapur),  I  had  decided  to  make 
my  home  with  them  until  my  plans  for  work 
should  mature. 

When  we  rose  next  morning  everybody  was 
in  a  fever  of  excitement,  for  there  before  us,  a 
horseshoe  of  purest  sapphire  blue,  lay  the  harbor 
of  Bombay. 

My  eyes  eagerly  scanned  every  detail:  stately 
steamships  and  other  ocean-going  craft  lay  well 
out  from  the  land;  tom-tits,  curious  little  sail- 
boats manned  by  native  boatmen,  darted  here  and 
there;  and  the  white  shore  and  green  trees  af- 
forded a  soothing  background  to  the  gaudy  dis- 
play of  color  on  the  pier,  where  hundreds  of  the 
Indian  men  of  Bombay  in  gala  raiment — a  few 
foreigners   and   white-clad   Englishmen   among 


BOMBAY 

them — had  come  to  welcome  our  giant  ship  from 
over-seas. 

We  had  left  the  ship  for  the  tender  and  were 
approaching  the  pier  when  Sonubai  exclaimed 
delightedly,  ''There's  Father!"  and  in  another 
moment  Dr.  Keskar  and  Rev.  Dr.  Karmarkar, 
an  Indian  Christian  of  Bombay,  were  heartily 
greeting  us.  The  customs  ordeal  ended,  we  drove 
toward  Dr.  Karmarkar's  home. 

With  slow  tread  and  downcast  face,  women  in 
draperies  of  every  hue  and  texture  passed 
through  the  streets,  their  jewels  almost  covering 
face,  neck,  arms,  and  legs,  and  jingling  at  every 
step.  A  few  of  the  men  were  quietly  dressed, 
but  many  would  have  put  a  peacock  to  shame,  as, 
in  blue  coat,  magenta  waistcoat,  red  trousers, 
rose-pink  turban,  and  yellow  shoes,  or  in  some 
other  color  scheme  quite  as  varied,  they  shuf- 
fled along.  The  whining  cry  of  blind  beggars 
in  simple  loin-cloth  pierced  the  babel  that  sur- 
rounded us.  And  there  were  the  babies  of  the 
city,  carried  on  their  mothers'  hips  or  running 
about  the  streets,  their  shiny  brown  skin  alone 
clothing  their  chubby  bodies. 

Occasionally  an  English  soldier  or  civilian  in 
khaki  or  white  duck  passed  through  the  crowds, 
his  trim  costume  and  ruddy  Western  face 
strangely  at  variance  with  the  life  about  him. 

3 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

From  the  din  of  the  crowded,  unsavory  ba- 
zaar, with  its  fat  shopkeepers,  its  tiny,  open 
shops,  and  the  dusty  confusion  of  its  wares,  we 
were  glad  to  come  into  the  wide,  green  Esplanade 
Road.  Here  the  passing  throngs  were  like  a 
story-book  pageant:  English  ladies  and  gentle- 
men in  summer  habit  galloped  by  on  spirited 
horses,  or,  exquisitely  dressed  in  Hyde  Park  or 
Fifth  Avenue  style,  drove  leisurely  along  in  open 
carriages;  military  officers  in  uniform  rode  reck- 
lessly; a  palanquin,  closely  curtained  and  con- 
taining some  "pride-of-the-harem,"  was  borne 
past,  the  women  servants  following  on  horseback 
and  an  Indian  gentleman — husband  or  son — can- 
tering by  the  side  of  the  palanquin,  each  hand 
holding  a  rein  and  the  arms  flopping  negligently ; 
and  dark-skinned  ayahs  in  snowy  muslins  were 
there,  in  charge  of  daintily  dressed  English  chil- 
dren. 

At  the  Karmarkar  house,  Mrs.  Karmarkar, 
who  had  taken  her  medical  degree  from  the  same 
college  in  Philadelphia  from  which  I  was  gradu- 
ated, met  us  with  warm  hospitality,  and  in  the 
evening  she  and  Dr.  Karmarkar  gave  a  feast — 
jawan — to  all  the  friends  who  had  arrived  that 
day  in  India. 

The  floor  was  prettily  decorated  with  a  design 
in  red  chalk,  while  exquisite  red  roses  formed 

4 


BOMBAY 

the  centerpiece.  In  full  evening  dress,  we  sat 
about,  Turk-fashion,  on  bright-colored  rugs,  and 
ate  with  our  fingers  from  the  banana  leaves  on 
which  the  food  was  served,  while  garlands  of 
pink  roses  and  white  jasmine  around  our  necks 
added  gaiety  to  the  jolly,  informal  feast. 
The  gentleman  who  sat  beside  me  taught  me  the 
table  etiquette  of  the  Hindu.  Food  should  be 
eaten  with  the  right  hand,  only  the  thumb  and 
the  first  two  fingers — even  those  not  below  the 
first  joint — coming  in  contact  with  the  food; 
water  should  be  poured  from  the  glass  into  the 
mouth  without  touching  the  lips.  That  finger 
and  glass  affair  may  sound  easy.  Try  it!  Al- 
though I  enjoyed  the  Indian  food,  the  meal 
seemed  like  the  old  picnic  meals  of  childhood, 
more  sweet  and  spicy  things  than  things  substan- 
tial. 

With  teas,  dinners,  receptions,  and  services  at 
the  various  mission  institutions,  the  American 
missionaries  and  Dr.  Keskar's  friends  among  the 
Indian  Christians  filled  our  time  so  pleasantly 
that  it  seemed  but  a  turn  of  the  kaleidoscope  be- 
fore our  Bombay  visit  came  to  an  end  and  we 
were  off  for  Sholapur. 


II 

LIFE   AT   SHOLAPUR 

ALL  the  way  to  Sholapur,  Sonubai  and  I 
had  our  railway  coach  to  ourselves. 
Along  each  side  of  the  roomy  compart- 
ment ran  an  eight-foot,  leather-cushioned  seat, 
and  above  each  of  these  seats  hung  a  wide  shelf, 
also  leather-cushioned,  constituting  an  "upper 
berth,"  which  could  be  hooked  back  against  the 
wall  when  not  in  use.  As  there  was  floor  space 
enough  between  the  lower  seats  and  the  tiny  but 
complete  dressing-room  to  accommodate  all  our 
trunks  and  bundles,  we  had  the  coolies  place  our 
baggage  inside  our  own  coach.  Then,  wrapping 
our  rugs  about  us,  we  stretched  ourselves  com- 
fortably on  the  long  seats  and  slept  soundly  till 
the  train  rolled  into  Sholapur. 

At  their  Orphanage  on  the  outskirts  of  Shola- 
pur, where,  because  of  the  plague  in  the  city, 
the  Keskars  were  camping,  we  were  met  by  the 
children  of  the  institution,  hundreds  of  bare- 
footed, brown-faced  boys  and  girls,  the  boys  in 
turban,  dhoti  (draped  trousers)  and  coat  of  spot- 

6 


LIFE   AT   SHOLAPUR 

less  white,  the  girls  with  their  graceful  red  sari 
flung  loosely  over  head  and  shoulders  and  falling 
in  long  pleats  to  the  ground.    As  we  approached, 
they  burst  into  a  song  of  joyous  greeting — the 
poor  lepers  joining  in  from  the  distance.    When, 
with  bright  smiles  of  welcome  and  a  lusty,  "Sa- 
laam!" the  children  had  finished  the  song,  and 
Sonubai's  mother  and  two  younger  sisters  had 
greeted  her  with  tearful  embraces  and  me  with 
courteous  warmth,  there  began  one  of  the  strang- 
est, most  bewitching  dances  I  had  ever  seen.    A 
company  of  about  twenty  small  boys  divided  into 
two  lines.    With  body  and  limbs  moving  in  per- 
fect rhythm  to  the  sound  of  their  crude  casta- 
nets and  to  the  loud  beating  of  a  drum,  they  stood 
first  on  one  foot,  then  on  the  other ;  whirled  round 
and  round ;  wound  in  and  out  of  the  opposite  line 
in  a  graceful  series  of  intertwinings ;  sank  to  a 
sitting  posture  on  their  heels;  then  rose  again 
light  as  air.    All  this  again  and  again,  slowly  at 
first,  then  faster  and  faster,  until  the  little  danc- 
ers, exhausted,  dropped  laughing  to  the  ground 
amid  our  loud  applause. 

As  we  passed  along,  group  after  group  came 
toward  us,  their  leader  throwing  garlands  of  pink 
roses  and  yellow  marigolds  over  our  heads,  until 
we  reached  the  cool,  roofed  veranda  where  we 
listened  to  a  speech  of  welcome  from  Dr.  Keskar, 

7 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

followed  by  prayers  and  hymns  of  gratitude  for 
our  safe  arrival. 

Although  I  did  not  understand  the  vernacular, 
I  could  easily  read  in  the  faces  of  the  little  ones 
gathered  about  me  happiness  and  comfort  and  a 
sincere  love  for  "Papa"  and  "Mamma,"  as  they 
call  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Keskar.  It  was  hard  to  realize 
that  many  of  the  chubby,  happy- faced  boys  and 
girls  gathered  about  me  were  the  famine  children 
of  1899  and  1900,  the  pathetic  little  skeletons 
which  the  press  throughout  the  world  so  vividly 
described  and  photographed. 

The  greeting  ceremonies  ended,  I  was  intro- 
duced to  Indian  home  life. 

With  unlimited  hospitality,  the  Keskar  family 
did  all  they  could  to  give  me  pleasure,  Mrs.  Kes- 
kar personally  superintending  the  preparation  of 
English  food  for  me — the  Indian  curries,  hot 
with  chilis,  were  painful  to  my  throat — while 
Guramma,  the  cook,  deftly  turned  it  out  from 
pots  and  pans  in  use  on  the  mud  stove.  There 
are  no  chimneys  in  Indian  village  houses,  but 
Guramma,  laughing  and  chatting  happily  over 
her  work,  seemed  not  at  all  inconvenienced  by 
the  clouds  of  smoke  rolling  over  her  head  and 
filling  the  kitchen,  though  I  could  not  even  pass 
through  the  room  without  a  violent  fit  of  cough- 
ing. 

8 


LIFE   AT   SHOLAPUR 

My  day  began  with  Suernamala.  That  im- 
pressive name  belonged  to  my  small  handmaiden 
who,  from  morning  till  night,  except  during 
school  hours,  was  somewhere  close  at  hand. 
When  the  morning  sun  roused  me  from  sleep  I 
could  see  Suernamala's  plump  figure  flitting  about 
the  room.  Observing  that  I  was  awake,  she 
would  bow  low  in  a  respectful  salaam,  and  sum- 
mon Bhagu,  her  assistant  (India  is  a  land  of 
assistant  unto  assistant),  to  help  her  bring  my 
chota  hazrai  (little  breakfast),  a  simple  meal  of 
tea  and  toast  and  jelly.  Frequently,  when  the 
child  was  grateful  to  me  for  some  trifling  favor, 
she  would  stoop  and  kiss  the  hem  of  my  gown. 
I  tried  in  vain  to  break  her  of  this  habit,  but,  in 
spite  of  all  my  explanations,  she  would  tearfully 
implore  me  not  to  consider  her  unworthy  to  touch 
even  my  clothing,  so  I  submitted  with  what  grace 
I  might. 

Most  of  the  day  was  spent  in  attending  to  the 
various  ailments  of  the  children,  for,  soon  after 
coming  to  Sholapur,  Sonubai  and  I  had  started  a 
little  dispensary  for  the  Orphanage. 

Then,  as  twilight  came  on,  we  would  stroll 
about  the  compound,  feeling  like  the  'Tied  Piper 
of  Hamelin,"  for  children  surrounded  us  on  every 
side  and  followed  in  a  long  stream  behind,  cling- 

9 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

ing  to  our  dresses  and  fingertips,  and  chattering 
merrily  to  each  other  and  to  us. 

At  night,  after  the  children  slept,  Sonubai  and 
I  would  sit  in  low  chairs  by  the  little  mother's 
side  and  listen  while  she  sang  to  us  the  sweet 
Marathi  hymns  or  narrated,  with  a  pretty  mix- 
ture of  English  and  Marathi,  the  old  legends  of 
Hindu  mythology. 

In  the  midst  of  this  peaceful  existence  would 
come  the  startling  sights  and  sounds  of  the  jun- 
gle, so  that  for  days  I  was  surprised  at  nothing 
but  the  lack  of  a  surprise.  Now  the  cry  of 
"Sahp!"  would  ring  through  the  air;  some  one 
had  seen  a  snake,  and  the  schoolboys  would  arm 
themselves  with  heavy  sticks  and  seek  out  the 
reptile — cobra  or  python — which  had  little  chance 
to  escape.  Again,  some  one  would  shout  that  a 
mad  dog  was  in  the  compound — the  life  of  the 
pariah  dog,  the  homeless,  pitiful  scavenger  of  the 
Orient,  frequently  ends  in  hydrophobia — and  a 
moment  later  the  shrieks  of  the  beast  as  he  was 
clubbed  to  death  would  send  shivers  down  my 
spine.  Milder  surprises  were  the  howls  of  the 
jackal,  filling  the  night  with  wild,  weird  sound; 
a  fox  dashing  through  the  compound;  an  owl 
flying  into  the  house;  or  a  stately  camel  stalking 
slowly  along  the  dusty  road,  a  dark-faced,  wild- 
looking  man  of  the  desert  on  its  back. 

10 


LIFE   AT  SHOLAPUR 

As  a  drove  of  camels  passed  one  day  Dr.  Kes- 
kar  persuaded  the  driver  to  give  me  a  ride.  The 
camel,  not  half  so  pleased  as  I,  grumbled  most 
disagreeably  while  he  knelt  for  the  mount.  The 
great  pack  on  his  back  was  covered  with  one  of 
our  own  rugs,  the  creature  emitted  more  of  those 
hideous  grunts,  and  then  I  held  for  life  to  the 
pack-ropes  while  he  slowly  rose  to  his  feet. 
When  the  camel  knew  that  his  driver  was  de- 
termined I  should  have  a  ride,  he  took  to  me 
more  kindly;  so,  doing  my  best  to  balance  myself 
and  to  sway  with  the  dreadful  sweeping  swing  of 
that  great  hump,  I  rode  with  more  triumph  than 
dignity  all  around  the  compound. 

When  Christmas  came — my  first  Christmas  in 
the  tropics — it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  living  in 
a  dream.  The  weather  was  perfect,  the  sky,  an 
intense,  dazzling  blue,  the  clouds  mere  flecks  of 
down,  and  tiny  zephyrs,  fragrant  with  the  breath 
of  roses  and  lemon-grass,  caressed  my  cheek  with 
the  soft  touch  of  a  baby's  hand.  Friendly  spar- 
rows hopped  about  the  floor  or  chirped  overhead 
among  the  rafters;  lizards  scuttled  along  the  wall 
in  the  sunshine;  tiny  squirrels  frisked  about  the 
doorstep,  or,  half  shyly,  half  impudently,  peeped 
in  at  us.  From  the  windows  we  could  see  a  round 
Eastern  well  with  a  green  orchard  in  the  back- 
ground.    Little  brown  boys  frolicked  under  the 

II 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

trees  or  splashed  with  deHght  in  the  pond;  goats 
with  their  kids  hopped  among  the  rocks  or,  stand- 
ing on  their  hind  legs,  reached  eager  mouths  to 
the  young  leaves  above  them ;  emerald  green  par- 
rakeets  skimmed  through  the  air;  and  the  cooing 
of  the  jungle  doves  mingled  with  the  raucous  caw- 
ing of  a  flock  of  crows  in  a  neighboring  tree. 

During  Christmas  Eve,  and  all  through  the 
night,  groups  of  men  and  boys  had  come  beneath 
our  windows  singing  Christmas  carols  in  the 
good,  old-fashioned  way;  and  now  on  Christmas 
Day,  the  compound  resounded  with  the  song  and 
laughter  of  the  children  at  their  games;  even  the 
poor  lepers  seemed  full  of  Christmas  spirit;  and 
life  was  good  to  live. 

The  coming  of  the  bangle-man  added  to  the 
pleasure  and  excitement.  Under  Mrs.  Keskar's 
directions,  he  gave  a  pair  of  the  bright-colored 
glass  trinkets  to  each  of  the  schoolgirls,  the  vain 
little  creatures  insisting  on  the  tiniest  bangles  in 
spite  of  the  pain  which  brought  the  tears  to  their 
eyes  as  the  bangle-man  coaxed  the  bangles  over 
their  hands.  As  a  guest  of  the  house,  I  also  was 
decorated.  I  refused  to  be  tortured,  however, 
and,  greatly  to  the  bangle-man's  disgust,  insisted 
on  a  fair-sized  pair  of  bangles  which  slipped  eas- 
ily over  my  hands. 

After  the  distribution  of  gifts  to  the  children 

12 


LIFE   AT   SHOLAPUR 

of  the  Orphanage,  the  Keskar  family  and  I  went 
to  the  Leper  Asylum.  Although  in  a  few  of  the 
poor,  doomed  lepers  no  outward  sign  of  the  dread 
disease  could  be  detected,  most  of  them  had  the 
bleared  eyes,  and  seamed,  swollen  features  of  ad- 
vanced leprosy,  and  many  had  neither  fingers  nor 
toes. 

For  the  time  being  they  had  lost  the  hopeless 
look  which,  sooner  or  later,  comes  into  the  eyes 
of  lepers,  and  delightedly  they  grasped  the  treas- 
ures held  out  to  them,  responding  with  a  loud 
"Tankoo!"  and  a  graceful  salaam.  Three-year- 
old  Rubi  did  her  best,  but  could  only  wave  her 
hand  in  an  uncertain  way  and  piece  out  the  ges- 
ture with  a  dimpling  smile.  I  shuddered  to  think 
of  the  wretched  fate  of  that  bright  babe.  Even 
then  she  showed  the  telltale  spots ! 

The  presents  given,  the  lepers  sang  their  na- 
tive songs  for  us  with  drum  and  castanet  accom- 
paniment, and  then  we  returned  to  the  Orphan- 
age and  the  Christmas  dinner. 

Poolaii  (rice  and  goat-meat  boiled  together) 
takes  the  place  of  our  turkey  at  home,  and  the 
children's  eyes  glistened  as,  seated  on  the  ground 
in  perfect  content,  they  dipped  their  fingers  again 
and  again  into  the  heaped-up  plates,  or  drank 
long  draughts  of  water  from  their  tin  cups. 

Baby  Assiabai  was  too  young  for  the  poolau, 

13 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

but  her  coos  and  gurgles  showed  that  she  also 
enjoyed  her  Christmas.  Baby  Assiabai  repre- 
sents one  of  Dr.  Keskar's  medical  triumphs.  A 
few  months  before  Christmas,  Dr.  Keskar  found 
her,  a  tiny  babe  on  the  very  verge  of  starvation, 
in  a  corner  of  a  village  hut.  Lean,  hungry-eyed 
rats  gnawed  greedily  at  her  fingers  and  toes,  and, 
close  by,  five  dead  bodies,  plague-stricken,  lay 
huddled.  The  doctor  brought  the  wailing  child 
to  his  Orphanage  and  put  her  in  charge  of  a  fos- 
ter-mother who  tenderly  nursed  her  back  to  life. 
The  wounds  of  the  hands  and  feet  soon  healed, 
the  wasted  form  rounded  out,  and  dimples  played 
in  the  plump  cheeks  as  she  laughed  at  our  at- 
tempts to  amuse  her. 

Our  one  sadness  of  the  Christmas-time  was  to 
find  that  Kanku  had  the  leprosy.  Kanku,  a  child 
of  South  India  and  a  stranger  indeed  among  our 
Marathis,  often  wept  bitterly  over  the  thought- 
less teasing  of  the  other  children  about  her  South 
country  language  and  customs;  the  only  happi- 
ness of  her  timid,  home-loving  Indian  heart  was 
to  stand  outside  the  lepers'  inclosure  and  talk 
with  two  or  three  leper  girls  who  were  from  her 
own  district  in  the  South.  Then,  on  Christmas 
Day,  we  found  in  Kanku  unmistakable  signs  of 
leprosy  and  gently  told  her  so  with  a  shrinking 
dread  of  her  misery  at  the  bitter  truth.    To  our 


LIFE   AT   SHOLAPUR 

surprise,  Kanku  laughed  joyfully,  "Now  I  can 
be  with  my  own  people,"  and  rushed  away  to  her 
little  countrywomen  in  the  Lepers'  Asylum. 

New  Year's  Day  was  celebrated  by  dining  with 
a  prominent  Brahman  family  of  Sholapur.  The 
invitation  surprised  me,  but  Dr.  Keskar  explained 
that  the  Brahman  gentleman  who  had  sent  the 
invitation  was  less  orthodox  in  thought  than 
Brahmans  usually  are ;  that  he  had  been  to  Eng- 
land and  America,  thereby  breaking  his  caste; 
but  that  he  dressed  in  costume,  observed  the  rites, 
and  had  duly  performed  all  the  ceremonies  of 
purification,  one  of  which  is  the  eating  and  drink- 
ing of  the  five  products,  including  the  excretions, 
of  the  cow ;  so  he  had  been  received  with  no  ques- 
tion among  his  people.  The  Brahman's  wife 
greeted  us  shyly,  bringing  all  the  children  to  see 
us ;  but  these  did  not  sit  with  us  at  the  meal,  for 
Brahman  women  eat  after  the  men  have  finished, 
the  wife  eating  of  the  husband's  leavings.  There 
were  several  Hindu  guests  present,  and  we  sat 
on  the  floor.  Once,  instead  of  the  food  being 
placed  by  my  side,  I  thoughtlessly  took  it  from 
the  hand  of  the  waiter,  thus  defiling  the  poor 
fellow,  who  was  instantly  compelled  to  take  a 
purifying  bath. 

The  eldest  son  of  the  family,  a  grown  man, 
had  appeared  at  the  table  in  his  white  dhoti  and 

15 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

shirt,  and  it  was  explained  to  me  that  the  shirt 
was  in  deference  to  my  feehngs,  for  it  is  the 
habit  of  the  Brahmans  to  dine  in  the  dhoti  alone. 

Another  curious  custom  which  they  observed 
was  the  surrounding  of  each  leaf  plate  with  a 
ring  of  water,  and  the  placing  of  a  morsel  of 
food  on  the  floor  as  an  offering  to  the  gods.  This 
is  the  Hindu  "grace." 

Bidding  the  women  good-by,  in  their  own 
apartment,  we  joined  the  men  in  the  drawing- 
room,  chatted  a  while,  and  started  homeward. 

Squatting  on  his  flat  board  seat  our  driver 
urged  on  the  bullocks  by  tickling  them  with  his 
toes,  or  twisting  their  tails,  and  all  through  the 
crowded  bazaar  his  cry  rang  out  frequently :  ''A, 
gardi  wallah,  bahdsooday!  (O,  driver  of  the  ve- 
hicle, to  the  side!)" 

A  holy  beggar — fakir — went  chanting  along 
as  we  passed,  his  flowing,  unkempt  hair  and  al- 
most naked  body  proclaiming  his  profession. 

Farther  on,  two  Hindu  gentlemen,  having 
greeted  each  other,  squatted  down  on  the  side- 
walk for  a  cozy  chat,  sitting  on  their  heels  and 
bearing  their  whole  weight  on  their  toes. 

As  we  passed  the  old  fort  we  stopped  to  ex- 
plore the  interior,  full  of  relics  of  ancient  Hindu 
and  Mohammedan  life.  I  heard  the  legend  of  the 
woman  who,  with  her  unborn  babe,  was  buried 

i6 


LIFE   AT   SHOLAPUR 

alive  under  the  tower,  as  a  religious  sacrifice.  I 
saw  the  crude,  red-painted  Kali,  goddess  of  de- 
struction, who  stands  with  head  bent  forward. 
It  is  said  that  she  swore  no  Englishman  should 
ever  set  foot  in  the  fort;  and,  when  the  English 
conquered  and  entered,  the  goddess  bowed  her 
head  in  shame  and  sadness,  and  has  never  raised 
it  since.  In  the  temple  of  the  fort  a  very  differ- 
ent and  proud  little  Kali  is  decked  in  richest  gold 
and  silver  and  jewels,  each  of  her  eyes  being  a 
costly  diamond. 

On  the  outskirts  of  Sholapur  we  passed  the 
relief  tents,  where  people  had  fled  from  the 
plague.  In  Sholapur,  a  town  of  about  seventy- 
five  thousand  inhabitants,  thirty-six  was  at  that 
time  the  average  daily  mortality,  and  the  number 
steadily  increased  until  the  hot  season. 

So  the  days  passed  until,  despite  the  cordial 
urging  of  the  Sholapur  people  that  I  remain  with 
them  longer,  I  felt  that  I  must  begin  my  work  in 
India.  As  the  Government  Surgeon  of  Sholapur 
advised  me  to  go  to  Calcutta  to  see  Sir  Denzil 
Ibbetson,  President  of  the  Council,  about  a  hos- 
pital appointment,  I  started  on  my  journey  across 
the  whole  breadth  of  India. 


Ill 

WAYSIDE   SKETCHES 

SUERNAMALA  packed  my  valise  with  a 
few  necessaries  and  many  of  her  own 
ready  tears,  and,  with  the  loud  "Salaam!" 
of  the  children  ringing  through  the  air,  I  rattled 
away  in  the  dust  of  the  country  road. 

At  one  of  the  stations  I  climbed  down  from  the 
train  to  observe  more  closely  the  scenes  about  me. 

At  all  large  railway  stations  a  fenced-off  yard 
is  allotted  to  the  third-class  passengers,  who,  not 
having  any  idea  of  the  time  their  train  will  start, 
or  of  the  value  of  time  in  general,  bring  their 
blankets  and  other  baggage  the  night  before  they 
wish  to  begin  their  journey  and  camp  out  in  the 
station  yard. 

As  our  train  stopped  these  fenced-in,  would-be 
passengers  crowded  close  to  the  gate.  The  guard 
let  them  out  and  they  scurried  for  the  third-class 
coaches.  Pushing,  pulling,  crowding,  huddling, 
shouting,  they  climbed  aboard  the  train,  and  only 
when  they  had  packed  every  coach  to  the  limit  of 
its  capacity  (the  men  in  separate  compartments 

i8 


WAYSIDE    SKETCHES 

from  the  women)  did  they  seem  contented. 
Gurgling  hookahs,  cigarettes,  and  small  pipes 
made  from  leaves  were  produced  (the  women  of 
India  as  well  as  the  men  smoke  from  early  child- 
hood), and,  as  the  smoke  issued  forth  in  clouds, 
the  tones  sank  to  intermittent  murmurs,  and  all 
was  peace. 

A  young  English  soldier  with  a  fair,  good- 
humored  face,  in  khaki  uniform  and  with  dark 
soldier  cap  set  jauntily  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
was  putting  his  Eurasian  family  into  a  third-class 
coach  marked  "For  European  Females."  The 
coolie  asked  him  a  question  and  he  replied  with 
an  impatient  gesture:  *'0h,  go  t'ell!"  Then,  see- 
ing me,  he  added  apologetically:  "Beg  pardon. 
Ma'am !  But  these  fellahs,  'ow  they  do  torment 
one  r 

I  had  started  again  to  board  the  train  when  I 
almost  fancied  I  was  having  "visions,"  for  I  saw 
before  me,  among  the  motley  Indian  crowd,  a 
young  man  in  whose  high-bred  features,  athletic 
air,  natty  gray  suit,  and  Panama  hat  something 
spoke  plainly  of  American  university  life.  At 
the  same  moment  he  saw  me  and  stopped  short 
in  his  walk,  staring  hard.  Then,  flushing  with 
pleasure,  he  rushed  up  to  me. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  you're  a  New  Yorker, 
aren't  you?" 

19 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

"Yes;  how  did  you  know?" 

"Why,  that's  easy;  you've  Broadway  written 
all  over  you.  I  tell  you,  I'm  glad  to  see  you !  A 
fellow  gets  awfully  lonesome  in  this  blasted  coun- 
try." 

There  was  time  for  no  more.  The  train  bell 
rang  for  starting  and  I  stepped  into  the  coach, 
smiling  a  good-by  to  a  homesick,  boyish  face. 

Soon  the  Vindhya  Mountains  shut  us  in  on 
every  side,  those  wonderful  piles  of  granite  and 
syenite  variously  shaped  as  if,  in  ages  past,  giants 
must  have  hurled  into  the  air  immense  boulders 
which  fell  on  the  flattened  mountain  tops  in  all 
sorts  of  positions  until  they  took  on  the  semblance 
of  a  great  city  standing  strongly  outlined  against 
the  heavens.  I  could  see  five  of  the  boulders 
piled  one  on  top  of  the  other  so  delicately  bal- 
anced that  it  seemed  as  if  a  child's  hand  could 
send  them  crashing  to  the  valley  below. 

At  one  point  the  plain  lay  hundreds  of  feet  be- 
low the  track  and  the  train  passed  through  tun- 
nel after  tunnel.  When  I  had  counted  twenty- 
five  I  thought  of  the  old  lady  traveling  through 
the  Rocky  Mountains  who  wondered  what  would 
happen  "if  the  train  should  miss  any  of  those 
holes." 

Breaking  my  journey  most  pleasantly  at  Bhan- 
dara,  where  I  spent  a  day  or  two  at  the  hospitable 

20 


WAYSIDE    SKETCHES 

home  of  Rao  Sahib  Rangrao,  whose  wife  is  Mrs. 
Keskar's  sister,  I  then  journeyed  onward  in  com- 
pany with  Babu  Rangrao,  the  eldest  son  of  the 
house,  who  was  on  his  way  to  the  Calcutta  Medi- 
cal College,  of  which  he  was  a  student,  and  with 
Manakbai,  the  eldest  daughter,  returning,  after 
her  vacation,  to  the  Calcutta  High  School. 

In  Bengal  I  was,  for  the  first  time,  in  the 
tropics  of  my  dreams — moist  and  warm  and  lux- 
uriant with  bright-colored  vegetation.  Mud  huts 
and  huts  of  straw  nestled  among  giant  palm  trees, 
every  hut  surrounded  by  its  own  garden  of  gay 
flowers.  It  lent  a  thrill  to  the  scene  to  know 
that  in  the  great  forests  we  were  passing  the 
royal  Bengal  tiger  stalked  the  deer  and  the  wild 
elephant  roamed  in  lordly  freedom.  Scores  of 
the  jungle  tales  I  had  heard  in  my  childhood 
thronged  upon  me  and  held  mad  revel  in  my 
brain. 


IV 

THE   CITY   OF   PALACES 

ACCORDING  to  Dr.  Keskar's  written  re- 
quest his  friend  Babu  Atul  Nag  met  me 
in  Calcutta  and  we  drove  across  the 
wonderful  pontoon  bridge  over  the  Hooghly  to 
the  London  Mission,  where  it  had  been  arranged 
that  I  should  make  my  home  during  my  stay  in 
the  city. 

When,  during  a  pleasant  interview  next  morn- 
ing with  Sir  Denzil  Ibbetson,  he  explained  that 
in  a  government  post  the  physician  is  not  allowed 
to  teach  Christianity,  I  immediately  gave  up  all 
thought  of  trying  to  obtain  such  a  position,  and 
decided  to  join  some  mission  in  need  of  medical 
services. 

The  charm  of  the  "City  of  Palaces"  held  me  a 
few  days  longer.  Every  afternoon  we  had  a  de- 
lightful drive  along  the  broad  Esplanade,  through 
the  stately  Chovvringhee  Road,  or  about  the  mag- 
nificent public  gardens. 

Very  noticeable  was  the  white,  wan  look  of 
every  European  I  met  in  Calcutta,  and  the  atti- 

22 


THE    CITY   OF    PALACES 

tude  of  absolute  ease  assumed  by  them,  the  leis- 
urely stroll  of  the  pedestrian,  the  listless  air  of 
the  gentlemen  in  carriages  as  they  idly  turned  the 
sheets  of  newspapers,  and  the  languid  smile  of 
the  ladies  as  they  passed  each  other  in  their  even- 
ing drive. 

The  Bengalese  appeared  to  me  the  finest  look- 
ing Indian  people  I  had  seen,  with  their  large, 
dark,  lustrous  eyes  and  European  features,  a 
bright-colored  silk  scarf  thrown  across  the  chest 
of  the  men  and  depending  from  the  left  shoulder 
adding  a  charming  grace  to  their  costume.  The 
one  defect  in  their  appearance  was  the  greasy 
look  imparted  by  the  generous  quantities  of  cocoa- 
nut  oil  applied  to  their  hair,  which,  unlike  all  the 
other  peoples  of  India,  they  wear  uncovered. 

A  Bengali  wedding  feast  occupied  one  evening 
of  our  time.  The  Mission  ladies  and  I,  conducted 
by  a  servant  with  a  lantern,  groped  our  way 
through  dark,  narrow  alleys,  walking  carefully 
to  avoid  the  sewage  gutters  on  both  sides  of  the 
path,  until  we  came  to  the  low-roofed  mud  house 
of  the  bride's  parents.  Stooping  low  to  enter  the 
doorway,  we  passed  through  a  dimly  lighted 
room,  stepping  over  dozens  of  naked,  sleeping 
babies,  left  there  while  their  parents  enjoyed  the 
festivities,  and  came  out  on  the  veranda  of  the 
courtyard,  where  the  merriment  was  at  its  height. 

23 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

The  wedding  ceremony  was  ended  and  the  feast 
was  in  progress.  We  were  smilingly  greeted  by 
the  bride's  mother,  and,  with  a  group  of  learned 
Babus — lawyers,  clergymen,  professors — we  sat 
on  the  floor  of  the  rug-covered  veranda,  eating 
with  our  fingers  the  delicious  curry,  rice,  and 
sweetmeats  placed  before  us,  and  watching  the 
gaiety  of  the  wedding  guests. 

Amid  the  loud  report  of  firecrackers,  the  sput- 
ter and  flare  of  Roman  candles,  and  the  bright 
light  of  red  fire  matches,  young  boys  danced  and 
frolicked  about  the  courtyard  to  the  music  of 
an  Indian  band,  and  the  shining,  dark  eyes  and 
gorgeous  costumes  of  the  scores  of  guests 
crowded  on  the  veranda  lent  added  brilliance  to 
the  scene. 

The  bride  herself,  a  slim,  pretty  girl  of  four- 
teen, surpassed  all  the  others  in  splendor  of  cos- 
tume. Her  sari  of  pink  brocaded  silk  was  draped 
over  an  English  blouse  of  red  velvet  and  rainbow 
silk,  whose  name  describes  its  color;  while  a  mas- 
sive silver  ornament  in  her  hair,  two  immense 
gold  earrings  in  each  ear,  two  or  three  gold  and 
silver  necklaces,  several  silver  bracelets,  gold 
finger  rings  galore,  and  silver  toe  rings  and  ank- 
lets helped  in  the  bewildering  display  of  light  and 
color  which  she  presented. 


V 

BENARES 

ONE  of  the  dreams  of  my  life  had  been  to 
see  the  Taj  Mahal  at  Agra,  and  I  took 
the  opportunity  to  visit  Agra  before  my 
return  to  Sholapur,  stopping  on  the  way  at  Be- 
nares, that  "holy"  city,  supposed  to  rest  on  the 
point  of  Siva's  trident  and  which  for  nearly  three 
thousand  years  has  been  the  center  of  Hindu 
learning  and  religious  life. 

At  the  station  in  Benares,  an  old  Mahomedan 
guide  with  flowing  magenta  beard — the  law  de- 
nies an  "old"  man  a  license  as  a  guide,  hence  the 
clever  artfulness  of  the  magenta  color — entered 
my  service  and,  knowing  well  what  the  Sahib-log 
(English  people)  wish  to  see,  conducted  me  at 
once  to  the  Ganges.  There,  from  my  comfortable 
seat  on  the  deck  of  a  boat,  which  muscular  coolies 
rowed  slowly  up  and  down,  I  saw  the  amazing 
sights  of  that  wonderful  old  city. 

As  we  passed  the  Burning  Ghat,  three  corpses 
were  burning,  each  on  a  fagot  pile  three  or  four 
feet  high,  while  the  mourners  sat  on  one  side 

25 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

waiting  to  throw  the  ashes  into  the  river,  thus  ob- 
taining for  their  beloved  dead  the  surety  of  heav- 
en. A  white-shrouded  figure  lay  on  the  edge  of 
the  bank  with  the  water  lapping  over  it,  and  an- 
other was  evidently  undergoing  preparations  for 
burning.  Less  than  a  century  ago  that  Burning 
Ghat  had  been  the  favorite  place  for  suttee,  when 
the  dead  went  not  alone  to  paradise. 

"Hindus  thinking  va-a-ary  good  to  die  in  Be- 
nares," remarked  my  guide,  **but  it  being  va-a-ary 
expensis!" 

Judging  from  the  appearance  of  the  crafty- 
eyed  priests  and  the  loathsome  fakirs,  I  could 
well  believe  that,  once  in  their  clutches,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  escape,  dead  or  alive,  without  pay- 
ing heavy  ransom. 

From  the  river  we  walked  to  the  various  tem- 
ples. As  we  passed  the  devotees,  who  were  pros- 
trating themselves  before  their  idols,  they  drew 
their  garments  aside  that  they  might  not  be  pol- 
luted by  our  touch;  and  one  old  woman  snarled 
savagely  as  my  dress  almost  brushed  against  her. 


VI 

AGRA 

IT  was  hot  noonday  when  I  arrived  at  Agra, 
the  ancient  capital  of  Akbar  and  of  Shah 
Jehan.  Just  as  at  Benares,  I  found  an  old 
Mahomedan  guide  with  a  magenta  beard;  and 
we  went  immediately  to  the  palace  fort.  There 
we  wandered  through  a  maze  of  rooms  and  courts 
and  terraces  and  pavilions  so  immense  and  so 
gorgeously  decorated  that  I  was  glad  to  come 
to  the  Pearl  Mosque  and  feel  the  gentle  influence 
on  my  spirit  of  the  beauty,  the  purity,  the  solem- 
nity of  that  matchless  room  of  prayer. 

From  the  marble  terrace  where  Shah  Jehan, 
grandest  of  all  the  Grand  Moguls,  used  to  go  at 
sunset  to  gaze  on  the  Taj  Mahal  and  dream  of  the 
lovely  woman  who  had  made  life  for  him  a  para- 
dise on  earth,  I  had  my  first  glimpse  of  the  Taj. 
Its  great  white  dome  and  golden  crescent  shone 
through  the  trees,  luring  my  mind  toward  the 
treat  in  store  for  me. 

When  the  sun  had  passed  the  zenith  I  left  the 
hotel  for  the  Taj  and  walked  the  two  miles  alone, 

27 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

for  I  wanted  no  magenta-bearded  guide  to  thrust 
his  grotesque  Urdu-EngHsh  between  me  and  this 
highest  expression  in  the  builders'  art  of  man's 
love  for  woman. 

In  imagination  let  me  lead  all  you  who  are 
lovers  of  the  beautiful  through  the  splendid  gate- 
way into  the  gardens  of  the  Taj,  that  you  may 
feast  your  own  eyes  on  the  glories  therein ! 

Straight  before  you,  but  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  gleams  the  cenotaph  of  the  Begum 
Arjamund,  so  pure  and  beautiful  that  you  stop 
for  a  moment  to  make  sure  it  is  of  earth.  It 
stands  at  the  end  of  a  long  channel  of  sparkling 
water,  running  the  whole  length  of  the  garden 
and  constantly  rippled  by  the  series  of  tiny  foun- 
tains it  contains,  each  fountain  throwing  up  a 
single  spray. 

On  either  side  of  the  water  is  a  row  of  Italian 
cypresses  and,  exactly  halfway  along,  a  marble 
terrace  with  garden  seats  tempts  you  to  rest  and 
gaze  and  dream,  while  all  about  you  in  every 
direction  stretch  the  delectable  gardens.  Could 
even  the  Taj  itself  have  a  nobler  setting  than 
these  well-ordered  groves?  The  giant  banyan 
spreads  forth  its  branches  and  hanging  roots; 
the  stately  palm  tree  reaches  toward  the  heavens ; 
and  our  familiar  friends,  the  roses  and  the  jas- 
mine, clamber  freely  about  among  the  rarest  of 

38 


AGRA 

trees  and  shrubs  and  flowers  brought  from  far 
away  to  grace  the  scene;  butterflies  of  extraor- 
dinary brilliance  flutter  among  the  flowers ;  while 
wee,  striped  squirrels  play  hide-and-seek  among 
the  trees  and  rocks;  scarlet  birds  and  birds  of 
blue  and  of  green  form  bits  of  darting  color  in 
the  foliage;  gorgeous  peacocks  sweep  the  soft 
grass  and  flash  their  bejeweled  plumage  in  the 
sun ;  and  the  gladsome  trill  of  the  bulbiil — India's 
thrush — fills  your  very  soul  with  melody. 

Passing  on  down  the  avenue  of  cypresses  we 
draw  nearer  and  nearer  the  mausoleum  until  it 
stands  directly  in  front  of  us.  From  afar  it  was 
beautiful,  but  now,  on  closer  inspection,  it  seems 
so  exquisite  that  it  might  have  been  wrought 
from  the  frostwork  on  your  winter  window  pane, 
flecked  here  and  there  with  ethereal  sunrise 
color.  Clear-cut  against  the  blue,  blue  sky 
it  rises  in  all  its  peerless  grace,  and  it  is  long 
before  we  can  tear  ourselves  away  from  its  fas- 
cination to  visit  the  interior. 

We  enter  the  doorway  and  stand  in  a  silent, 
softly  lighted  chamber.  Delicately  traced  in  the 
fairy  mesh  of  the  marble  screen  inclosing  the 
tombs,  a  line  of  Arabic  lettering  tells  us  that  "The 
Exalted  of  the  Palace  lies  here,"  and  that  "Allah 
alone  is  powerful." 

The  dome  has  an  echo  unrivaled  in  strength 

29 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

and  purity  throughout  the  world.  With  clear, 
rich  voice  the  grave  old  Mahomedan  caretaker 
strikes  a  few  musical  notes  and,  hark!  the  echo 
catches  and  transforms  the  sound  into  harmony, 
swelling,  rapturous,  which  rolls  on  and  on  in 
lingering  sweetness,  until  we  involuntarily  look 
up  to  see  if  some  golden-throated  choir  be  hidden 
above. 


VII 

SHOLAPUR   AGAIN 

SHOLAPUR  again ! 
Mrs.  Keskar  met  me  at  the  station  with 
a  beaming  welcome,  the  servants  hurried 
my  baggage  into  the  tonga,  and  we  rode  home 
together  in  the  cool  morning  air. 

As  I  entered  the  compound  all  the  children, 
lined  up  to  greet  me,  sang  in  chorus  their  favorite 
song  of  welcome : 

"Salaam !  Salaam !  Salaam !  We  offer  you  our 
greeting.  Peace!  May  Jesus  the  Saviour  bless 
you  and  with  love  and  kindness  daily  watch  over 
you !  Joyfully  we  offer  you  our  greeting.  Peace ! 
Salaam !" 

I  had  been  in  Sholapur  but  a  few  days  when  a 
dark  cloud  settled  over  the  compound.  In  the 
city  the  plague  had  mown  down  its  victims  with 
ever-increasing  fury  and  now  it  came  to  our  own 
compound.  A  sudden  high  fever  attacked  one  of 
our  baby  boys,  and,  on  close  examination,  we 
found  a  slight  swelling  under  the  child's  right 
arm.    In  spite  of  every  effort  to  save  him  he  lived 

31 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

but  a  few  hours.  As  he  had  slept  in  our  room 
with  his  mother  for  several  nights  we  carefully 
disinfected  everything.  Our  people  were  panic- 
stricken;  orders  were  given  the  cook  to  prepare 
meals  in  the  open  air;  the  children  slept  outside 
the  buildings;  and  all  precautions  were  taken  to 
prevent  the  spread  of  the  plague.  Fortunately 
for  us  the  rigid  isolation  and  disinfection  ob- 
served by  Dr.  Keskar  saved  our  people  almost 
entirely  from  the  terrible  epidemic,  and  it  was  but 
a  short  time  before  the  immediate  danger  had 
passed  away. 


VIII 
HYDERABAD 

RESPONDING  to  an  invitation  from  Mrs. 
George  Nundy,  wife  of  an  Indian  Doc- 
tor of  Laws  at  Hyderabad,  Deccan,  I 
went  to  Hyderabad  and  spent  a  happy  week  at 
the  beautiful  home  of  the  Nundy s.  There  were 
interesting  drives  in  the  city,  merry  frolics  with 
the  children,  tennis  on  the  court,  quiet  walks  in 
the  moonlight,  and  several  social  festivities  at 
the  homes  of  the  American  missionaries  at  Se- 
cunderabad,  a  neighboring  city,  and  of  British 
and  Indian  Government  people  at  Hyderabad. 

In  Hyderabad,  you  feel  that  you  have  stepped 
into  the  "Arabian  Nights."  The  shining  domes 
of  great  mosques  and  tombs,  and  the  beautiful 
palaces  of  His  Highness,  the  Nizam,  rise  above 
the  blue  and  red  and  green  and  yellow  houses  of 
the  city,  whose  roofs  seem  almost  to  meet  over 
the  narrow  thoroughfares;  a  motley  crowd  of 
loud-voiced  men  and  women  shuffle  slowly  along 
in  rainbow  costumes ;  and  scarlet  and  gold  palan- 
quins with  curtoins  drawn  close,  indicating  femi- 

33 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

nine  occupancy,  are  borne  past  on  the  shoulders 
of  coolies,  who  trot  along  at  an  even  gait,  chant- 
ing the  "Palanquin  Song" : 

"Ho,  ho,  hung! 
Go  ah  gung! 
Ho,  ho,  hi,  hogan!" 

Splendid  equipages  roll  by,  the  gorgeous  livery 
of  the  outriders  showing  that  they  belong  to  the 
establishment  of  some  wealthy  Nabob;  hump- 
shouldered  bullocks  no  bigger  than  Shetland 
ponies  sturdily  draw  along  their  little  two- 
wheeled  carts;  Arab  horses  in  gay  trappings, 
bearing  lightly  on  their  backs  fierce  men  of  the 
North  armed  with  murderous  looking  weapons, 
dash  through  the  throng  clearing  a  wide  path 
before  them;  camels  with  long-robed  Bedouin 
riders  pad  through  the  streets;  elephants  trudge 
ponderously  on  their  way  with  fringed  and  gilded 
howdahs  on  their  backs  and  the  voice  of  the  ma- 
hout in  their  ears,  or  swing  with  pendulous  mo- 
tion behind  the  fence  of  their  Fel-Khana  (the 
"livery-stable"  for  the  hundreds  of  Hyderabad 
elephants) ;  and  the  air  of  the  whole  city  is  pen- 
etrant with  the  stale,  sweet,  oppressive  odor  of 
the  Eastern  bazaar. 

Through  the  heart  of  the  city  rolls  the  wide 
river  Musah  until  it  comes  out  under  the  long 
Bund,  the  fashionable  driveway  of  the  place.  On 

34 


HYDERABAD 

the  outskirts  of  Hyderabad  many  large,  white 
mansions,  such  as  the  Nundy  residence,  stand 
back  from  the  highway  amid  a  paradise  of  bloom; 
and  huge  guns  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  booming 
forth  the  hours  as  they  pass,  give  the  finishing 
touch  to  this  wonderful  old  city. 

The  ancient  Golconda  fort  and  tombs  and  the 
famous  diamond  mines  where  the  Koh-i-noor 
was  found,  and  where  Sindbad  the  Sailor,  hold- 
ing fast  to  the  diamond-encrusted  meat,  was 
borne  to  safety  by  the  roc,  are  a  few  miles  out  of 
Hyderabad,  and,  with  the  Nundys,  we  drove  over 
to  see  them. 

We  reveled  in  the  delicious  coolness  of  the 
gentle  Golconda  hills,  where  the  Nizam's  court 
finds  a  pleasant  summer  retreat;  marveled  over 
the  stonework  of  the  fort  and  its  underground 
passages  centuries  old;  and,  from  the  king's 
throne  on  the  summit,  had  a  fine  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  Then  down  we  went  to  see 
the  tombs,  of  which  there  are  fifteen  or  twenty 
scattered  over  the  wide  plain,  several  of  them 
very  large  and  very  beautiful. 

My  stay  in  Hyderabad  was  ended  and  I  was 
having  a  thoroughly  enjoyable  visit  with  Dr.  Ida 
Faye  Levering  of  Secunderabad  when  news  came 
that  the  Wesleyan  Mission  at  Medak,  sixty  miles 
from  Hyderabad,  was  sadly  in  need  of  a  pliysi- 

35 


-     JUNGLE    DAYS 

cian,  and  that  they  would  Hke  me  to  take  the 
work.  Miss  Harris  and  Miss  Posnett,  mission- 
aries from  the  Medak  Mission,  came  to  Secunder- 
abad  to  meet  me,  and,  when  I  learned  from  them 
that  the  medical  superintendent  of  their  hospital 
was  obliged  to  go  to  England,  leaving  a  district 
of  five  hundred  square  miles  without  a  single 
qualified  physician,  the  great  need  appealed  to 
me,  and  I  decided  then  and  there  to  go  to  Medak. 


IX 

MY   INDIAN   HOME 

MY  life  at  the  Keskar  Orphanage  was 
ended. 
The  farewell  was  a  time  of  grief 
and  hurry,  but  at  last  I  tore  myself  from  the  arms 
of  the  dear  children  and  ran  to  the  waiting  tonga. 

On  the  way  to  Medak  several  zenana  ladies 
traveled  with  me.  As  they  walked  from  their 
covered  carriage  to  the  train  they  seemed  a  line 
of  shrouded  ghosts,  for  all  wore  the  bhourka, 
a  long,  full,  white  cotton  cloak  reaching  to  the 
ankles,  with  hood  covering  the  entire  head  in- 
cluding the  face,  leaving  only  an  embroidered  slit 
for  the  eyes.  In  the  railway  carriage,  safe  from 
male  observation,  they  removed  their  "shrouds," 
and,  behold!  Silks  and  velvets  of  cream,  dove- 
color,  heliotrope,  green,  pink,  blue,  magenta, 
orange,  and  yellow,  with  gold  and  silver  em- 
broideries and  ornaments,  and  precious  jewels 
flashing  a  thousand  light  rays  into  my  eyes,  the 
heavy  Eastern  perfume  pervading  everything. 

At  Akanapett,  the  nearest  station  to  the  vil- 

37 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

lage  of  Medak,  twelve  miles  farther  on,  Miss 
Harris  met  me.  Breaking  our  journey  by  stay- 
ing for  the  night  at  a  nearby  district  dispensary 
of  the  Mission  in  the  village  of  Ramyanpett,  we 
started  next  morning  in  a  bullock  tonga  for  Me- 
dak. 

The  big  white  bullocks  trotted  along  at  a  good 
pace  over  the  rough  country  road  through  a  land- 
scape of  rude,  desolate  charm.  In  former  days 
this  road  was  checked  on  the  map  of  the  Thugs  as 
a  place  suited  for  their  work.  Nowadays  a 
police  thana  marks  the  way  every  few  miles  along 
the  Ramyanpett  road  to  Medak,  and  there  is  little 
danger  from  savage  men,  though  savage  beasts 
still  lurk  in  the  deep  woods  and  among  the  huge 
boulders  and  thick  underbrush.  Tiger,  leopard, 
bear,  or  wolf  frequently  makes  a  night  attack  on 
the  farmer's  stock;  and  Miss  Harris  pointed  out 
the  lake  where  they  drink.  At  that  moment  a 
colony  of  huge,  black-faced,  gray  monkeys  swung 
from  a  tree  near  the  road  to  another  and  another 
at  a  prudent  distance  from  us;  but  one  mother 
monkey,  too  proud  of  her  hairless,  grimacing 
baby  to  lose  such  a  chance  of  displaying  his 
charms,  climbed  down  from  the  trees,  seated  her- 
self on  a  roadside  rock,  with  legs  hanging  in 
front  of  her  in  a  grotesquely  human  attitude,  and 
clasped  her  offspring  to  her  breast,  her  expression 

38 


MY   INDIAN   HOME 

saying  plainly:  "Saw  you  ever  such  another?" 
We  never  had ! 

We  passed  the  Dhobi's  (washermen's)  Stream, 
and  there  were  the  dhobis  at  work.  Each  dhobi 
selects  a  flat  rock,  places  it  in  the  stream,  dips 
the  clothes  in  the  water,  and  slaps  them  vigor- 
ously up  and  down  on  the  rock.  This  process  is 
repeated  until  the  clothes  are  clean ;  they  are  then 
wrung  out  and  spread  on  bushes  by  the  water 
side  to  dry  in  the  hot  sun.  A  careful  folding 
serves  very  well  for  ironing,  for  the  Indian 
clothes  are  only  long,  plain  pieces  of  thin  ma- 
terial. 

A  heap  of  boulders  striped  with  red  and  white 
chalk  marked  a  "holy  place"  of  the  Hindus;  and 
almost  at  the  end  of  our  journey  we  passed  the 
pathetic  little  Christian  cemetery,  its  mounds 
leveled  and  protected  with  great  flat  stones  from 
the  ravages  of  jackal  or  hyena. 

We  reached  the  Mission  settlement  near  the 
village  of  Medak  just  at  the  "dust  hour" — the 
name  the  Indians  give  to  the  hour  of  sunset  when 
the  flocks  and  herds  trailing  homeward  fill  the 
air  with  such  thick,  white  clouds  of  dust  that  a 
fog  appears  to  have  settled  over  the  landscape — 
and  passed  directly  from  the  maidan  into  the  big 
white  carriage  gates  of  my  new  home  in  India. 

As  we  entered  the  gates,  the  Indian  school 

39 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

children  of  the  Mission  came  running  with  smile 
and  salaam  to  welcome  us.  The  English  people 
of  the  settlement,  of  whom  there  were  only  eight 
or  ten,  met  us  with  more  dignity,  but  with  no  less 
cordiality. 

The  village  of  Medak,  like  the  city  of  Hyder- 
abad, is  in  the  district  of  Hyderabad.  This  entire 
district — larger  than  the  states  of  New  York  and 
Pennsylvania  put  together,  and  consisting  of 
eleven  and  a  half  million  inhabitants — is  known 
as  the  "Nizam's  Dominions,"  and  is  under  the 
control  of  the  Nizam  of  Hyderabad,  a  Mussel- 
man  who,  except  the  Sultan  of  Turkey,  is  the 
most  powerful  Moslem  ruler  in  the  world.  Edu- 
cated  in  England,  the  Nizam,  although  oriental 
in  many  ways,  has  broad,  advanced  ideas,  and  is 
loved  and  honored  by  the  strange  conglomeration 
of  peoples  that  make  up  his  subjects. 

Indian  rulers  such  as  the  Nizam  have  only 
limited  power  in  their  kingdoms.  Without  the 
consent  of  the  British  Government  they  cannot 
declare  war  or  peace  nor  enter  into  agreements 
with  other  states,  although  they  retain  a  certain 
military  force  of  their  own.  In  the  case  of  the 
Nizam's  Dominions,  however,  no  European  but 
the  British  Resident  may  reside  in  the  state  with- 
out special  permission  of  the  Nizam;  and  there 

40  ^ 


MY   INDIAN   HOME 

is  no  British  interference  in  the  government  ex- 
cept in  case  of  excessive  misrule. 

Our  Mission  compound  stands  on  high  ground 
and  is  surrounded  by  a  lonely,  wildly  beautiful 
landscape.  On  three  sides,  the  maidan  stretches 
off  into  the  distance,  its  monotony  broken  here 
and  there  by  rock  or  tree.  Down  below  and  just 
in  front  lies  a  placid  blue  lake  where  white  and 
yellow  lotus  lilies  float.  Noble  trees  line  the 
banks  of  the  lake,  the  densely  shadowing  mango 
and  banyan,  the  tamarind  whose  green,  lacey  fo- 
liage would  delight  the  heart  of  a  Corot,  and  the 
majestic  date-palm  towering  high  above  them  all 
against  a  sky  shimmering  with  its  intense  blue 
and  gold.  Beyond  are  rice  fields,  more  vividly 
green  than  the  young  rye  of  New  England;  and 
then,  straight  up  for  three  or  four  hundred  feet, 
rises  a  hill  with  immense  boulders  tumbled  all 
over  it,  these  boulders  and  the  tall  grass  sur- 
rounding them  sheltering  hundreds  of  beasts  of 
prey.  The  ruins  of  a  stone  fort  and  temple  cen- 
turies old  crown  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  at 
its  foot  are  the  little  mud  houses  of  Medak  with 
a  few  structures  of  greater  pretensions. 

With  striking  distinctness  in  the  midst  of  this 
scene  stand  out  the  white,  well-constructed  build- 
ings of  the  Mission  compound,  set  in  the  midst 
of  pleasant,  fertile  gardens  and  fields. 

41 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

In  the  large  and  comfortable  bungalows  each 
of  us  had  a  suite  of  two  rooms,  shared  by  the 
sparrows  and  bats  which  built  their  nests  on  a 
ledge  just  beneath  the  high  ceiling  of  white- 
washed canvas,  so  that  you  almost  felt  you  were 
camping  out,  the  noise  and  dirt  of  the  winged  in- 
truders adding  to  the  realism. 

The  gardens  were  an  entrancing  mass  of  sweet- 
scented  bloom  and  blazing  color — red,  orange, 
yellow,  purple — with  enough  cool  green  and  white 
to  soften  the  beauty  and  add  to  it,  while  bright- 
plumaged  birds  and  birds  of  somber  hue  called 
and  sang  everywhere  and  over  the  entrance  gate- 
way arched  two  pipal  trees  which  rustled  cease- 
lessly with  a  sound  like  gentle  rain  falling  on  the 
glistening  leaves,  deep  green  and  silver  lined. 
The  pipal  tree  is  the  sacred  tree  of  India,  the  bo- 
tree  under  which  Buddha  meditated,  and  under 
whose  shade  it  is  said  no  lie  can  be  told. 

My  Indian  nurses  proved  to  be  bright,  clean, 
helpful  young  women,  but  Abbishakamma,  chief 
compounder  and  chief  Bible-woman,  far  sur- 
passed them.  Her  wavy  gray  hair,  which  no 
amount  of  cocoanut  oil  would  compel  to  smooth- 
ness, her  dimples,  and  her  merry  brown  eyes 
gave  her  a  pleasing  comeliness;  while  her  general 
ability,  her  kindly  cheerfulness,  her  never-failing 
loyalty,   and  her    familiarity  with   the   English 

42 


MY   INDIAN   HOME 

language  and  with  seven  or  eight  of  the  In- 
dian languages  made  her  an  invaluable  assistant. 

During  prayer-service  one  morning,  as  Abbish- 
akamma  sat  cross-legged  on  a  large  rug  with  a 
group  of  patients  gathered  about  her,  she  talked 
to  them  with  so  much  feeling  and  they  listened 
with  such  unusual  attention  that  I  asked  Miss 
Wigfield  what  the  Bible-woman  was  telling 
them. 

"That  is  Abbishakamma's  favorite  tale,"  re- 
plied Miss  Wigfield.  "It  is  of  Elizabeth  and  her 
joy  over  her  son.  That  one  story,  as  Abbisha- 
kamma  tells  it,  has  brought  us  more  patients,  and 
has  given  the  patients  more  faith  in  the  Christian 
religion,  than  any  other  story  in  the  Bible;  for 
the  supreme  desire  of  every  Indian  woman  is  to 
have  a  son ;  and  they  would  be  glad  indeed  to  wor- 
ship any  god  who  could  grant  them  that  desire." 

India's  need  would  appeal  to  a  heart  of  stone. 
Some  of  the  poor  creatures  who  came  to  us  for 
help  had  traveled  for  a  week  in  a  springless  road- 
cart;  others  had  walked  sixty  miles  in  the  broil- 
ing sun.  And  the  childlike  attitude  of  the  peo- 
ple toward  us  was  pathetic.  A  dear  old  coolie 
woman  said  one  night  in  the  prayer  meeting: 
"Oh,  God,  the  white  people  have  come  to  us  from 
over  the  sea.  They  have  given  us  much  and 
helped  us  much.    Give  them  strength  to  help  us 

43 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

more !"  They  either  feared  us  and  tried  to  avoid 
us  altogether,  or  they  reverenced  us  as  gods  who 
held  absolute  power  of  life  and  death  over  them. 
I  could  stand  being  called  their  "grandmother," 
their  "queen,"  or  their  "goddess,"  but  when  one 
of  them  would  rub  her  forehead  on  my  dusty 
shoes  with  the  cry :  "I  am  your  slave ;  I  kiss  your 
feet !"  I  usually  had  an  impulse  almost  irresist- 
ible to  put  one  foot  on  her  neck  and  fold  my  arms 
with  a  superior  glance  upward  like  the  Roman 
gladiator.  Again,  when  one  buried  her  head  in 
my  solar  plexus  I  felt  that  I  must  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  babies  at  home  under  like  circum- 
stances by  squealing  and  grabbing  a  wisp  of  her 
hair.  I  knew,  however,  that  this  was  but  the  ori- 
ental manner  and  meant  much  the  same  as  a  sim- 
ple handshake  in  America. 

I  imagine  that  the  strong  races  which  swept 
down  from  the  North  to  war  against  the  people 
of  Hyderabad  District  found  them  an  easy  con- 
quest. 

In  appearance  they  are  small  and  delicately 
built,  especially  the  women,  with  brown  skin  and 
finely  cut  features,  and  their  dress  and  general 
customs  are  those  of  the  other  Hindus  of  India. 

The  religion  of  the  Dravidians,  who  originally 
possessed  the  Hyderabad  country,  was  an  almost 
unmixed   form  of  devil  worship;  but  now,  the 

44 


MY   INDIAN    HOME 

religion  of  the  Deccan  folk,  their  descendants, 
who  call  themselves  Hindus,  is  a  combination  of 
devil  worship,  Hinduism  and  Buddhism. 

As  to  character  and  conduct,  the  people  have 
inherited  docility,  subtlety,  timidity,  and  an  at- 
tractive gentleness.  In  brief,  if  you  will  imagine 
the  exact  opposite  of  a  typical  American  of  the 
United  States,  you  will  have  the  East  Indian  as 
he  appeared  to  me.  The  more  I  saw  of  India, 
the  more  I  was  convinced  that 

.     .     .     East   is    East   and   West   is   West,    and    never 

the  twain  shall  meet, 
Till    Earth    and    Sky    stand    presently   at    God's    great 

Judgment  Seat. 

Fortunately  for  us  and  for  them  we  do  not 
expect  them  to  become  like  us  in  the  unimportant 
details.  We  do,  however,  want  them  to  be  not 
beasts  of  the  field,  but  men. 


X 

THE   RAINS 

THE  rains  were  late  that  first  year  at  Me- 
dak  and  the  peasants  said  that  a  hun- 
dred people  must  be  kidnapped  and 
killed  and  their  blood  allowed  to  float  down  the 
river  to  appease  Gunga,  goddess  of  rain.  When 
the  blood  should  reach  a  certain  point,  the  anger 
of  the  goddess  would  depart  and  the  rains  would 
break.  The  attempt  to  secure  the  hundred  people 
for  the  sacrifice  threw  the  district  into  terror. 
Nobody  went  out  alone  after  dark;  and  when, 
one  night,  a  strange  man  came  up  and  caught  the 
hand  of  one  of  our  schoolgirls  who  had  wan- 
dered a  short  distance  from  the  others  out  on  the 
maidan,  all  the  compound  thought  she  escaped 
being  a  victim  only  through  her  screams,  which 
immediately  brought  our  coolies  to  the  rescue. 

Because  of  this  lack  of  rain,  the  rice  crop  suf- 
fered and  the  people  were  heavy-hearted.  Every 
evening  and  far  into  the  night  we  could  hear  the 
unceasing  song  of  the  village  women  as  they  wor- 
shiped their  gods,  the  monotonous  hand-clapping 

46 


THE   RAINS 

and  chanting,  ''Send  us  rain!  Send  us  rain!" 
But  at  last  the  rainy  season  came.  It  was 
necessary  to  protect  our  shoes  and  other  articles 
of  leather  from  the  heavy  mold  which  daily 
formed  upon  them,  as  well  as  from  the  white  ants 
which  worked  their  devastation  at  all  times  of 
year.  Once,  on  returning  from  a  three  days'  ab- 
sence, I  found  the  clay  trail  of  the  white  ants  on 
my  best  medical  case,  and,  when  I  investigated, 
a  long  strip  of  its  leather  tore  off  and  crumbled 
in  my  hand. 

Other  entomological  specimens  come  with  the 
rains.  The  mantis,  green  in  color  and  two  or 
three  times  as  big  as  a  grasshopper,  looks  like 
four  animated  leaves  fastened  together  by  the 
stems.  Because  of  its  habit  of  standing  on  its 
hind  leaves  and  folding  its  front  leaves  together 
as  if  in  prayer,  it  is  called,  "the  praying  one." 
Another,  the  "stick  insect,"  measuring  some  three 
inches  from  tip  to  tip,  and  having  three  pairs  of 
legs,  I  have  frequently  mistaken  for  a  few  wisps 
of  dried  grass,  until,  on  brushing  it  away,  I 
have  been  astonished  to  see  it  pick  itself  up  and 
walk  ofif.  The  locusts,  reddish-brown  with  pink 
gauzy  wings,  are  beautiful,  a  swarm  of  them 
having  the  appearance  of  a  rose-pink  cloud  sail- 
ing through  the  air.  But  they  are  frightfully 
destructive,  sometimes  wreaking  famine-produc- 

47 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

ing  havoc  among  the  crops.  This  is  easily  under- 
stood when  it  is  known  that  an  army  of  locusts 
was  at  one  time  measured  and  found  to  be  fifty 
miles  wide,  half  a  mile  from  front  to  rear,  eighty 
feet  high,  and  swarming  densely. 

It  was  after  a  hard  shower  that  I  saw  from  the 
dispensary  door  some  animals  hopping  about  in 
the  wet  road.  At  first  glance  I  thought  them  wild 
hares,  but  on  closer  inspection  found  them  to 
be  frogs,  the  biggest  I  had  ever  seen. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Indian  nurses,  awestruck, 
"every  year  they  rain  down  from  the  sky." 

The  rain  and  wind  of  a  fierce  storm  dulled 
all  minor  sounds  when  one  midnight  a  cry, 
"Thieves !"  woke  everybody  in  the  compound,  and 
in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  we  were  flying 
hither  and  thither  with  lights  and  sticks  and  guns. 
.  A  burglar  had  broken  into  the  hospital  and 
stolen  the  head  nurse's  money  and  most  of  her 
clothes.  He  had  rifled  the  storerooms  throughout 
the  compound,  getting  away  with  heavy  booty. 
Afterward  we  learned  that  several  of  us  had  nar- 
rowly escaped  death.  The  thief  confessed  in 
court  that  he  had  for  several  seconds  bent  over 
the  sleeping  form  of  the  head  nurse,  prepared 
to  stab  her  should  she  wake ;  and  that,  when  Miss 
Posnett  and  I  were  searching  for  him  in  the  hos- 
pital garden,  we  had  come  so  near  him  at  one 

d.8 


THE   RAINS 

time  that  he  held  his  dagger  prepared  to  kill  us 
should  we  advance  another  step  in  his  direction. 

When  the  matter  of  the  burglary  was  reported 
to  the  police  of  Medak,  they,  as  usual,  sat  down 
apathetically,  remarking,  in  regard  to  the  matter, 
"What  can  we  do?"  But  not  so  Mr.  Hankin, 
their  superintendent,  an  Englishman  and  one  of 
the  most  competent  police  officials  in  India.  When 
he  saw  no  effort  was  made  to  find  the  culprit, 
he  commanded  that  the  salary  of  every  one  of 
his  subordinates  be  withheld  until  the  thief  should 
be  found.  Instantly  they  set  to  work  and  within 
a  few  days  the  criminal  was  lodged  in  jail. 

We  were  told  that  the  burglar  underwent  the 
"tortures"  before  he  would  confess. 

These  tortures  are  worthy  of  the  genius  of  the 
American  Indian  in  that  line.  His  jailers  place 
red  pepper  in  a  man's  eyes  and  violently  rub 
them;  they  place  scorpions  in  the  orifices  of  his 
body;  they  thrust  poison  thorns  into  the  orifices; 
they  compel  the  prisoner  to  don  leather  trousers 
and  then  place  in  the  trousers  two  wild,  half- 
starved  cats,  allowing  them  to  fight  until  they 
have  torn  themselves  and  the  man's  legs  nearly 
to  pieces. 

The  "cat  torture"  broke  down  the  obstinacy 
of  our  burglar,  and  he  told  of  an  old,  unused 

well  in  the  jungle  where  he  had  hidden  the  goods. 

49 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

There,  sure  enough,  they  were,  though  many  ar- 
ticles were  ruined. 

The  culprit  was  convicted  and  underwent  se- 
vere punishment.  His  conviction  would  prob- 
ably not  have  been  so  easy  a  matter  had  he  pos- 
sessed money,  for  the  courts  of  Hyderabad  Dis- 
trict are  corrupt  to  the  core.  Two  annas  (four 
cents)  is  the  recognized  price  for  a  court  witness, 
and  for  this  he  will  perjure  himself  as  long  as 
anybody  cares  to  listen. 

After  the  burglary,  a  watchman  was  hired  to 
parade  the  compound  all  night  long.  Every 
night,  when  I  went  to  the  hospital  for  midnight 
rounds,  I  stepped  over  him  as  he  lay  asleep  on 
the  doorstep  with  his  lantern  and  stick  beside 
him. 


XI 

OUR   INDIAN    FRIENDS 

OUR  Telugu  shastri  (professor),  who  used 
to  come  every  day  to  teach  us  the  lan- 
guage, was,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  a 
type  of  the  Indian  Brahman  educated  according 
to  India's  ancient  ideals.  His  smooth-shaven 
face,  his  manner  of  dressing  his  hair — shaved 
all  but  the  crown,  and  the  hair  of  the  crown 
gathered  in  a  tight  coil  at  the  back — his  plain, 
round,  dark  felt  cap,  and  the  flowing  drapery 
of  his  white  dhoti  gave  him  a  peculiarly  femi- 
nine appearance.  The  umbrella  he  constantly 
carried  had  no  special  connection  with  rain  or 
sun,  but  was  a  mark  of  rank,  while  the  dark, 
heavy  cord  over  his  shoulder  proclaimed  that 
rank  as  highest — a  "twice-born"  Brahman.  Al- 
ways when  he  came  to  our  bungalow  we  knew 
that  under  the  closely  fitting  coat,  which  he  wore 
in  deference  to  our  ideas  of  propriety,  the  cord 
lay  over  the  right  shoulder.  This  meant  that  he 
was  "unclean,"  for  he  could  not  eat  or  worship 
until  he  had  finished  his  morning's  task  with  the 

51 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

no-caste  Christians.  If  we  chanced  to  meet  him 
in  the  afternoon,  the  cord  rested  on  his  left 
shoulder  and  we  knew  he  was  sacred  and  un- 
touchable. 

When  he  came  to  teach  us,  he  would  retain  his 
hat  but  politely  remove  his  shoes,  as  he  bowed 
low  with  a  deep-voiced  "Salaam,  Daura  Sahni 
Gahru!"     (Greeting  Honorable  Madam!) 

Among  his  own  people  the  shastri  was  con- 
sidered a  profound  scholar.  He  thoroughly  un- 
derstood Sanscrit  and  Telugu,  and  could  recite 
in  those  languages  verses  by  the  yard;  he  knew 
every  detail  of  the  lives  of  the  Hindu  gods,  but 
he  never  heard  of  Jupiter  or  Thor.  He  told  me 
one  day  of  a  sea  of  milk  which  surrounds  the 
"Northern  World."  When  I  asked  him  if  he 
knew  that  the  earth  was  round,  he  smiled  scorn- 
fully : 

"That  is  a  belief  for  you  Western  people  only; 
you  have  many  strange  beliefs!" 

He  was  versed  in  Telugu  art,  but  if  we  showed 
him  a  picture  painted  by  an  English  artist — were 
it  landscape  or  still  life — he  would  turn  it  upside 
down,  sidewise,  and  every  other  way,  until  at 
last  he  seemed  satisfied — usually  when  it  was  up- 
side down.  Gazing  at  it  long  and  attentively,  he 
would  remark  gravely,  "Very  fine!"  and  put  it 
down. 

52 


OUR   INDIAN    FRIENDS 

"What  is  it,  Shastri  Gahru?"  we  would  ask. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  he  would  reply,  "but 
it  is  evidently  very  fine  work." 

Some  one  has  asked  me  why  the  Indian  Brah- 
mans,  known  to  be  people  of  refinement  and  edu- 
cation, do  not  establish  universities  of  their  own 
instead  of  importing  Western  teachers.  Our 
shastri  is  the  answer.  From  reading  and  ques- 
tioning, I  learn  that  there  are  probably  few  In- 
dians, unless  they  have  had  Western  teaching, 
more  broadly  educated  than  the  shastri.  He  was 
progressive  withal.  Miss  Tombleson,  one  of  our 
missionaries,  used  to  visit  Hindu  and  Mahom- 
edan  houses  of  Medak,  telling  Bible  stories  and 
singing  hymns.  Always,  when  some  new  house 
opened  its  doors  to  her,  the  shastri  was  unques- 
tionably pleased. 

"But  why  are  you  pleased,  Shastri  Gahru?" 
she  inquired  one  day.  "You  know  I  am  working 
against  your  religion." 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  know,  but  I  like  to  see  any 
good  work  thrive."  This  inconsistency  is  truly 
Hindu.  Logic  is  no  part  of  the  Hindu's  makeup. 
Should  you  say  to  him,  "Black  is  white,"  he  would 
reply,  with  bowed  head,  "If  you  say  it  is  so,  it 
is  so!    Why  should  not  black  be  white?" 

Another  explanation  of  the  shastri' s  attitude 
toward  the  Christians'  work  is  that  the  Hindu 

53 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

has  no  wish  to  propagate  his  religion,  and  no 
hatred  of  other  religions  unless  they  interfere 
with  his  caste  laws,  which  are  his  physical,  men- 
tal, and  moral  life,  and  a  sin  against  which  is  to 
him  the  only  sin! 

Even  Mahomedan  prejudice  against  our  mis- 
sion work  is  not  nearly  so  strong  as  might  be 
expected.  From  the  time  when  the  successful 
medical  work  of  the  mission  had  conquered  his 
prejudice  against  the  Christians,  Syed-Shar- 
Tamal-ud-din-Ahmed-Kadri-Dadu-Badsha-Shar 
Sahib,  the  Mahomedan  High  Priest  of  Medak, 
whom  we  always  affectionately  called  "Dadu 
Badsha,"  had  been  our  firm  friend,  and  by  his 
loyal  words  and  letters  had  won  openings  for  our 
work  into  many  hostile  villages.  At  one  time  he 
gave  a  feast  to  our  outcaste  orphans,  and,  to  show 
them  his  kindly  feeling,  he  passed  among  them 
when  they  ate  and  with  his  own  hand  gave  to 
each  child  a  morsel  of  food,  although  to  touch 
an  outcaste  Hindu  is,  to  a  Mahomedan,  repulsive 
beyond  anything  we  of  the  West  can  imagine. 

There  was  much  pomp  and  ceremony  in  the 
marriage  festival  of  Dadu  Badsha's  daughter. 
Notwithstanding  the  wealth  and  high  social  po- 
sition of  our  host,  we  were  asked,  according  to 
custom  when  we  Western  people  were  invited  to 
Indian  houses,  to  bring  our  own  food  and  chairs 

54 


OUR   INDIAN    FRIENDS 

and  table  linen.  This  we  did,  not  forgetting  some 
pieces  of  pink  toilet  soap,  for  we  knew  we  should 
be  met  at  the  zenana  door  by  the  High  Priest's 
seven-year-old  niece,  who  always  begged  for  pink 
toilet  soap. 

"If  I  wash  with  your  kind  of  soap,"  she  would 
say,  "I  shall  be  made  happy  by  becoming  pink 
like  you."  We  told  her  the  soap  would  make  no 
difference,  and  that  her  own  color — a  velvety 
brown — was  much  prettier,  but  she  was  not  con- 
vinced. 

One  of  the  bits  of  soap  was  intended  for  Dow- 
lat,  a  Telugu  slave  child,  who  used  to  plead  as 
eagerly  for  it  as  did  her  mistress.  Dowlat  was 
sold  to  the  zenana  in  her  infancy;  but  the  light- 
hearted  child  with  frowsy  hair  and  filthy  clothing 
felt  no  discontent  with  regard  to  her  lot  in  life. 
Having  never  known  loving  care,  she  probably 
never  missed  it.  Then,  too,  the  Mahomedans  are 
not,  as  a  rule,  unkind  to  their  slaves,  merely  in- 
different. Among  the  three  hundred  and  more 
persons  who  made  up  Dadu  Badsha's  household, 
there  was,  as  is  usual  in  Mahomedan  domestic 
life,  a  pleasant  democracy,  the  slaves  and  hired 
servants  eating  with  the  family  and  sharing  sym- 
pathetically in  the  family  joys  and  sorrows.  Dow- 
lat's  only  unhappiness  came  from  her  dissatisfac- 

55 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

tion  with  her  complexion,  which  was  of  a  shade 
but  little  less  sooty  than  soot. 

The  wedding  festivity  proved  altogether  suc- 
cessful, although  it  grew  a  little  wearisome  when 
the  Nautch  girls  had  danced  before  us  for  an 
hour  or  two.  These  dancing  girls  are  born  into 
their  profession,  as  is  everybody  in  India,  and 
are  trained  from  babyhood  to  their  immoral  life, 
for  the  Nautch  girls  are  wedded  to  the  temples, 
that  is,  are  prostitutes.  Nevertheless,  they  suffer 
no  reproach,  are  entertained  with  perfect  cordial- 
ity in  the  houses  of  virtuous  married  women  of 
every  rank,  and  are  treated  with  courtesy  and 
respect  by  the  men. 

A  young  Nautch  girl  who  came  to  our  hos- 
pital for  treatment,  amazed  when  we  asked  her  if 
she  would  not  like  to  lead  the  pure  life  of  a  mar- 
ried woman,  replied  lightly,  "Why  ?  I  am  happy ! 
Besides,  I  was  born  to  the  caste  of  temple  girl. 
What  can  one  do?" 

At  this  wedding  feast  given  by  Dadu  Badsha 
neither  the  dancing  nor  the  songs  were  objection- 
able, and  I  learn  they  seldom  are,  unless  men  only 
are  present.  A  fat,  old  person — the  "Elephant," 
they  called  her — was  the  leader,  and  despite  her 
weight  and  age  was  decidedly  graceful.  She 
trained  well  all  the  four  younger  women  who  ac- 
companied her,  often  stopping  in  the  midst  of 

56 


OUR    INDIAN    FRIENDS 

some  sentimental  song  to  snap  out  a  criticism  of 
their  voices  or  gestures.  She  rolled  her  eyes, 
frowned,  and  smiled,  wonderfully  contorted  her 
eyebrows  and  mouth,  moved  her  hands  and  arms 
from  side  to  side  and  over  her  head  in  gestures 
mild  or  passionate,  while  she  sang  in  the  harsh- 
est of  cracked  voices,  and  her  ankle  bells  kept 
time — a  slow,  steady  ''clink-clink-clink" — to  the 
music  of  sitar  and  drum.  The  dancers  in  shabby 
saris,  but  with  costly  jewels,  chewed  betel  nut 
and  had  little  laughing  asides  as  if  they  were 
taking  part  in  an  undress  rehearsal. 

It  was  some  variety  when  two  Hyderabad 
girls  took  the  place  of  the  others.  One,  a  girl 
of  seventeen,  with  a  handsome,  wicked  face;  the 
other,  a  mite  of  seven,  who  clashed  her  anklet 
bells  and  danced  heel  and  toe  with  the  biggest 
of  them. 

The  wedding  gifts  and  the  outfit  of  the  bride 
and  of  the  bridegroom  were  very  rich  and  gay, 
for  in  India  the  groom  is  not,  as  at  home,  a  sec- 
ondary consideration.  There  were  gold  and  sil- 
ver and  jewels,  silks  and  velvets  and  fine  linens, 
and  some  dainty  hand  embroidery  wrought  by 
the  bride  herself. 

We  women  were  permitted  to  see  the  bride, 
who  sat  on  a  crimson  velvet  couch,  a  crimson, 
gold-embroidered  shawl  completely  covering  her. 

57 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

For  forty  days  and  nights  she  might  see  no  face 
but  her  husband's;  so  when  the  elder  sister  al- 
lowed us  to  peep  beneath  the  shawl,  the  eyes  of 
the  bride  were  downcast,  but  the  mouth  told  us 
that  she  realized,  with  the  childish  delight  of  her 
thirteen  years,  her  importance  on  the  grand  occa- 
sion. At  the  real  wedding  ceremony  a  day  or  two 
later,  which  I  did  not  witness,  the  bride  was  rep- 
resented by  a  man,  and  the  entire  service  was 
with  this  proxy. 


XII 

AMERICAN  THANKSGIVING  DAY  IN   INDIA 

IN  India,  America's  Thanksgiving  Day  comes 
during  the  "melancholy  days";  the  hedge 
flowers  have  lost  their  brightest  pink  and 
blue,  and  the  grass  and  trees  look  faded  and  yel- 
low in  an  unlovely  old  age.  The  day  was  always, 
of  course,  a  very  ordinary  one  to  everybody  but 
myself. 

With  contrasting  memories  in  my  mind,  let 
me  tell  you  how  I  spent  my  first  Thanksgiving 
Day  in  India. 

Before  the  sun  was  well  up,  I  tumbled  out  of 
my  cot  on  the  veranda  and  ran  into  my  dressing- 
room.  I  had  scarcely  finished  dressing  when  I 
heard  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  some  one 
cough.  As  that  is  the  usual  way  the  noiseless- 
footed  Indian  servants  announce  their  presence, 
I  asked  who  was  there.  Venkiti,  our  assistant 
butler,  made  response,  informing  me  that  the 
other  ladies  had  gathered  at  the  table,  and  that 
whenever  my  Honor  pleased  I  could  be  served 
with  cJiota  Jiacrai. 

59 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Chota  finished,  Miss  Harris  and  I  started 
in  a  native  cart  for  Medak  village  to  visit  a 
woman  who  for  days  had  been  very  sick.  Curl- 
ing our  feet  under  us  and  sitting  carefully,  one 
in  front  of  the  other,  in  the  middle  of  the  cart 
to  give  leeway  to  our  bobbing  heads,  we  jolted 
over  the  rough  road.  Though  the  descent  from 
these  bandies,  the  only  escape  from  which  is 
over  a  high  board  at  the  back,  appears  more 
courageous  than  elegant,  we  were  equal  to  the  oc- 
casion, and,  after  a  due  exercise  of  forethought 
and  gymnastics,  found  our  feet  solidly  on  the 
ground. 

With  bent  heads  to  avoid  the  rafters,  we  en- 
tered the  dark,  close  room  where  the  patient  lay. 
As  is  usual  in  any  case  of  illness,  the  room  was 
full  of  men  and  women.  Ten  women  rushed  to 
bring  a  light,  or,  rather,  a  hemi-demi-semi-light, 
for  the  Indian  lamp  gives  the  brilliant  glare  of 
an  ordinary  match  with  a  London  fog  of  smoke 
surrounding  it. 

The  sick  girl,  staring  at  us  with  dazed,  fright- 
ened eyes,  crouched  in  a  far  corner  with  the  be- 
seeching cry,  "Don't  take  me  to  the  hospital!" 
We  laughed  her  out  of  her  fears — real  fears  to 
her,  for  the  report  had  spread  through  the  vil- 
lage that  the  English  people  had  planned  to  offer 
a  human  sacrifice  at  the  hospital  so  that  luck 

60 


Indian  carpenters  at  work 


String  bed  of  India,  the  common  sleeping  cot 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

might  come  to  the  place — and  at  last  she  drank 
the  medicine  we  gave  her  and  lay  down  to  rest. 

We  were  scarcely  out  of  the  house  before  an 
excited  Brahman  rushed  up  to  us. 

"Come  quickly!     Sitamma  is  dying!" 

In  his  home,  Sitamma,  his  child-wife  of  thir- 
teen years,  who  had  long  suffered  from  an  incur- 
able disease,  had  been  moved  from  the  bed  to 
the  ground,  for  a  Brahman  must  die  on  mother 
earth.  Her  face,  once  round  and  smiling,  was 
pinched  and  drawn  with  pain,  and  the  hollow 
eyes  piteously  besought  our  help  as  her  arms 
reached  out  to  us  to  come  nearer.  Her  mother, 
scarcely  more  than  a  girl  herself,  stood  by  in 
silent  despair,  the  tears  flooding  her  eyes,  and 
her  sari  drawn  tightly  over  her  mouth.  Gath- 
ered about  her  stood  four  or  five  old  Brahman 
widows,  unjeweled  and  unjacketed,  with  shorn 
gray  hair  and  in  saris  of  coarse  white  muslin.  A 
boy  cousin  of  twelve,  bewitchingly  beautiful,  his 
supple  young  body  set  off  to  advantage  by  a 
white  loin  cloth,  his  only  garment,  leaned  against 
a  pillar,  watching,  solemn-eyed,  our  every  move- 
ment. Twenty  other  friends  and  relatives  were 
there,  all  the  women  and  children  wailing  loudly 
and  the  men  standing  silently,  searching  our 
faces  for  signs  of  hope. 

Sitamma's    family    was   one   of   the   best   in 

6i 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Medak.  Rich  ornaments  of  gold  and  jewels 
hung  about  her  neck,  her  arms,  her  ankles,  en- 
circled her  fingers  and  toes,  and  pierced  her  nose 
and  ears;  and  her  clothes  were  of  finest  silk. 
But  the  room  where  she  lay  was  devoid  of  furni- 
ture, mud-floored  and  rough-raftered.  In  a 
crevice  of  the  dirty,  white-washed  wall  was  a 
crude,  red-painted  idol  surrounded  by  offerings 
of  fruits  and  vegetables,  and  with  lamps  burn- 
ing before  it.  Over  the  crevice  a  number  of 
cheap  advertising  cards  were  pasted,  and,  crown- 
ing all,  a  gaudily  colored  photograph  of  an  Eng- 
lish actor  and  actress. 

When  we  had  done  what  we  could  to  ease 
the  sick  girl's  distress  and  had  passed  out  of  the 
house,  we  could  scarcely  proceed  for  the  num- 
ber of  people  coming  up,  among  them,  Sitam- 
ma's  great-great-grandmother,  another  Brah- 
man widow,  bent  double  and  leaning  on  a  stout 
stick  for  support,  her  shrill,  cracked  voice  rising 
higher  than  all  the  rest  in  long-drawn  wails  for 
Sitamma. 

Back  to  the  dispensary  and  hospital  duties! 

One  of  our  hospital  in-patients  was  a  baby 
boy  who  had  been  so  terribly  mutilated  by  a 
pariah  dog  that  he  almost  died  before  our  long 
fight  at  last  brought  strength  and  health  to  the 
little  body  and  a  crooked  smile  to  the  red  lips. 

62 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

Two  others  were  victims  of  the  habit  among 
Mahomedans  of  giving  their  children  opium  in 
large  quantities.  Of  these  patients,  one  boy  was 
three  years  old,  the  other,  four  months,  but  there 
was  little  difference  in  their  size.  They  greatly 
improved  under  treatment,  and  the  elder  could, 
when  he  left  the  hospital,  waddle  weakly  about 
on  his  spindle  legs,  his  big  goblin  head  rolling 
considerably  but  containing  on  its  anterior  as- 
pect a  Cheshire  cat  expression. 

A  patient  suffering  with  rheumatic  fever  of 
the  arm  had  been  told  by  a  hakim  that  the  pain 
was  caused  by  poison  thorns  placed  in  her  flesh 
by  evil  persons.  To  prove  his  diagnosis,  he  had 
shown  her  a  handful  of  thorns  which  he  pre- 
tended to  have  extracted  from  her  arm  during 
his  examination  of  her.  Nothing  we  said  could 
change  the  girl's  conviction  that  the  thorns  had 
been  in  her  arm,  only  she  wondered  why  she  felt 
no  better  after  their  extraction. 

Another  case  was  that  of  a  young  woman  who 
came  to  us  with  acute  indigestion.  When  I  made 
my  rounds  she  asked:  *'How  soon  can  you  cut 
me  open  and  take  it  out?" 

''Take  it  out !"    I  repeated.    ''Take  what  out  ?" 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  are  a  doctor; 
you  have  felt  my  pulse ;  surely  you  know  what  ails 
me !    A  priest  told  me  that  an  enemy  had  placed 

63 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

the  stone  image  of  a  god  in  my  stomach,  and  I 
want  that  stone  image  cut  out!" 

We  pleaded  and  reasoned  with  her  all  in  vain. 
She  left  the  hospital  in  search  of  some  doctor 
who  would  cut  her  open  and  take  out  the  god. 

The  five-year-old  son  of  a  Mahomedan  of- 
ficial of  Medak  was  one  of  our  most  grateful 
patients.  We  had  been  obliged  to  lance  two 
boils  on  his  leg,  and,  at  the  last  cut,  the  child 
raised  both  arms  to  heaven,  and,  turning  his 
tear-stained  face  upward,  cried  out,  *'0h,  God, 
God,  what  a  sick  man  am  I!  Why  hast  Thou 
deserted  me?  Relieve  me  of  this  agony!  Take 
me  to  Thyself!  I  can  bear  no  more!"  When  a 
soothing  dressing  had  been  applied,  however, 
the  pain  vanished  and  he  smiled  through  his 
tears,  promising  magnificent  presents  for  us  all. 

Far  more  cause  for  gratitude  had  the  bonny 
boy  of  two,  whose  eyelid  healed  well  although  it 
was  gashed  in  half  a  dozen  places  by  the  horn 
of  an  angry  bull.  Mercifully,  the  eye  was  spared. 
Every  day,  while  I  applied  medicine  and  dress- 
ings to  his  eyelid,  the  wee  lad  howled  himself 
hoarse;  and  every  day  my  eyes  were  wet  with 
tears  over  the  plump,  naked,  brown  baby  who 
had  to  suffer  such  pain,  and  who,  after  the  dress- 
ings were  ended,  would  spring  with  a  tearful 
smile  straight  into  my  arms,  and  lay  his  loving, 

64 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

forgiving  head  on  my  shoulder  as  I  carried  him 
to  his  mother.  ^ 

Amadbhi,  a  Mahomedan  girl-wife,  had  been 
for  weeks  a  patient  in  our  hospital.  We  al- 
lowed her  young  husband,  who  waited  im- 
patiently for  her  recovery,  to  make  his  home  on 
our  front  veranda — a  neat,  little  bachelor  home, 
all  in  the  space  of  a  few  feet,  with  a  blanket  for 
a  bed,  his  own  turban  for  a  pillow,  a  clay  lamp, 
and  a  little  pile  of  pots  and  pans  for  cooking 
his  simple  meals.  He  was  always  spotless  in 
appearance,  for  there  was  a  lake  close  by  and 
on  the  flat  stones  he  pounded  his  garments  clean, 
hanging  them  to  dry  on  the  bushes  along  the 
bank.  Several  times  a  day,  Amadbhi  donned 
her  hhourka,  thus  hiding  her  face  from  all  other 
men,  and  crept  around  to  cheer  her  young  hus- 
band in  his  solitude,  until  at  last  she  recovered 
and  they  went  their  happy  way. 

A  charming  Mahomedan  princess  of  Hydera- 
bad, who  had  been  at  various  times  a  patient  of 
ours,  made  a  pretty  picture  as  she  reclined  on 
her  bed  with  her  pet  fawn — a  wide  blue  ribbon 
tied  in  a  bow  about  his  slender  neck — snuggling 
against  her.  This  princess  gave  us,  in  gratitude 
for  treatment  received,  land  in  one  of  her  own 
villages  on  which  to  build  a  chapel,  and  free  per- 

65 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

mission  to  preach  Christianity  throughout  the 
village.  9 

We  had  a  young  Arab  woman  as  a  patient  in 
our  hospital.  The  Arabs  are  a  manly  race,  with 
the  deserved  reputation  of  being  "a  faithful 
friend  and  a  dreaded  foe."  Their  costume  is 
very  picturesque;  a  short,  striped  skirt  reaching 
barely  to  the  knee,  a  turban  to  match,  the  end 
streaming  to  the  waist  at  the  back,  long  coat  of 
white  muslin,  low  shoes  with  toes  turning  back 
in  long  points  toward  the  ankle,  and  belt-sash 
stuck  full  of  pistols  and  dirks  ornamented  with 
gold  and  silver  and  jewels.  Every  day  the  hus- 
band and  brothers  of  our  Arab  patient  came  to 
see  her,  one  of  the  big  fellows  always  sitting  out- 
side her  door  at  night  to  keep  watch  over  her 
sleep. 

One  of  these  Arabs  asked  me  if  I  would  open 
an  abscess  for  him.  Calling  to  mind  the  shrink- 
ing, cowering  Hindu  when  anything  surgical  is 
in  evidence,  I  warned  the  Arab,  as  I  picked  up 
my  knife,  to  sit  quite  still,  and  added  in  soothing 
tones:  "It  will  hurt  but  a  second!"  He  smiled 
scornfully. 

"I  am  not  a  child.  Doctor  Mem  Sahib;  I  do 
not  fear  pain!" 

And  he  smiled  on,  never  flinching,  during  the 
operation. 

66 


THANKSGIVING   IN   INDIA 

The  idol  of  all  these  Arab  giants  and  of  their 
kinswoman  was  her  baby  Esau.  Like  a  group 
of  children,  they  would  gather  about  and  watch 
intently  every  time  little  Esau  was  fed  his  pre- 
pared food  from  a  nursing  bottle. 

"This  matter  of  bottle-feeding,"  said  the 
father,  "is  from  your  country.  No  one  in  India 
would  have  thought  of  it!" 

Rama,  a  Brahman  boy  of  thirteen,  with  deli- 
cate hands  and  feet  like  a  girl's  and  with  an  af- 
fectionate, gentle  manner  and  an  engaging  smile 
that  sent  him  straight  into  the  hearts  of  all  who 
knew  him,  suffered  with  diseased  feet  so  that 
for  two  years  he  was  altogether  unable  to  walk. 
His  father,  a  hakim  (Indian  herbalist),  who  had 
vainly  made  every  effort  to  cure  the  boy,  hated 
our  Mission  from  both  professional  and  religious 
jealousy,  and  it  severely  humbled  his  pride  when 
he  brought  his  son  to  our  hospital  and  begged  us 
to  attempt  his  cure.  The  serious  operation  we 
performed  was,  happily,  successful,  and  when 
the  boy  could  run  about  as  merrily  as  any  other 
laddie,  the  father  seemed  to  put  aside  his  last 
bit  of  resentment  and  suspicion  in  regard  to  us. 

When  I  visited  Rama's  room  the  evening  be- 
fore he  left  us,  he  sat  on  his  bed  surrounded  by 
his  adoring  father  and  his  four  adoring  uncles — 
Rama  is  the  only  boy  in  all  the  family — who 

67 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

listened  with  admiration  while  he  sang  in  his 
shrill  voice  the  old  Hindu  songs  they  love. 

Notwithstanding  the  Brahman  fashion  of 
wearing  his  hair — shaved  all  but  the  crown — and 
the  wide  red  and  yellow  caste  marks  on  his  fore- 
head, Rama  looked  almost  beautiful  as,  with 
shining  eyes,  he  cuddled  close  in  his  arms  the 
English  doll  we  had  given  him,  a  blue-eyed  lady 
in  a  pink  dress,  to  whose  finery  he  had  added 
garlands  of  white  jasmine.  As  I  entered  the 
room,  Rama  and  the  elder  gentlemen  rose  v/ith 
profound  salaams  and  the  boy  laughingly  threw 
a  long  jasmine  garland  about  my  neck  and  made 
his  doUie  salaam  to  me. 

As  I  patted  the  lad's  head  and  tweaked  the 
long,  sacred  lock  hanging  from  his  crown,  he 
laid  his  cheek  against  my  arm  and  murmured  in 
his  pretty  oriental  way:  "To-morrow  I  shall  be 
at  home  and  very  happy,  but  I  shall  miss  the  dear 
white  ladies.  When  you  say  good-night  with 
those  loving  words  and  caress  me  thus,  a  great 
peace  like  the  soft  wings  of  a  bird  closes  over 
my  spirit  and  I  sleep  well  and  sweetly." 

More  and  more  did  I  wonder,  as  the  days  went 
by,  that  we  had  patients  from  any  other  place 
than  our  own  village  of  Medak,  because  of  the 
difficulties  and  peril  in  reaching  us. 

Ramavva,  a  high  caste  Hindu  woman,  used 

68 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

to  come  to  us  every  few  months  for  treatment, 
caring  nothing  that,  to  do  this,  she  had  to  ride 
alone  for  three  days  on  the  back  of  a  buffalo 
through  the  rough,  lonely  jungle. 

When  she  arrived  at  the  hospital  one  night, 
she  told  us  an  incident  of  her  journey: 

**You  know,"  she  began,  ''that  I  have  learned 
many  Bible  stories  and  Christian  hymns  here  at 
your  hospital,  and  at  home  I  tell  my  family  the 
tales  and  sing  the  hymns  for  them.  By  the  tale 
which  I  will  now  relate,  you  will  perceive  that 
I  am  a  Christian  at  heart,  though  I  implore  you 
to  tell  no  one,  for  I  wish  to  have  no  domestic 
difficulties. 

"As  I  journeyed  toward  the  hospital  yester- 
day, I  was  passing  through  the  woods  when  I 
saw  a  camp  of  Dacoities  (Hindus  who  are  born 
to  the  caste  of  robber  and  murderer)  among  the 
rocks.  They  were  very  near,  and  I  feared  they 
had  already  heard  my  buffalo  trampling  and  that 
I  was  lost.  Then  I  remembered  the  words  of 
the  Christians,  and,  jumping  down  from  my  bul- 
lock, I  knelt  on  the  grass  and  prayed:  'O  Jesu 
Swami  (Lord  Jesus),  save  me!'  When  I  arose, 
I  looked,  and  behold !  the  wicked  men  had  not  no- 
ticed my  approach,  so  I  quietly  led  my  buffalo  a 
roundabout  way  and  came  on  in  safety." 

Ward  rounds  ended,  I  went  to  the  dispensary. 

69 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Kadrabhi  was  the  first  to  greet  us.  Kadrabhi 
was  a  Mahomedan  woman  of  rank  and,  therefore, 
had  to  keep  gosha.  Too  poor  to  own  a  curtained 
zenana  bandy,  she  would  come  afoot  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  early  morning  and  out  again  when 
the  sun  had  gone. 

Then  the  patients  came  in  force,  plucking  our 
sleeves,  crowding  upon  us,  and  shouting  their 
symptoms  in  loud  tones,  until  we  laughingly  cov- 
ered our  ears  with  our  bands  and  our  nurses 
brought  them  to  order. 

A  large,  muscular  woman  showed  us  a  re- 
cent fracture  of  the  wrist,  with  hand  swollen  to 
a  ball.  We  removed  the  peacock  feather  which 
she  had  tied  about  her  wrist  for  good  luck,  and 
prepared  for  treatment.  Suddenly  terror  seized 
her,  and  before  we  could  stop  her  she  had  fled. 

Another  woman  who  had  been  holding  over 
her  face  the  corner  of  her  sari  drenched  with 
blood,  removed  the  cloth,  disclosing  a  hideous 
mutilation.  Her  husband,  to  punish  her  for  in- 
fidelity, had,  as  is  customary  in  such  cases,  cut 
off  her  nose. 

One  of  our  coolie  women  brought  to  us  her 
babe. 

"Will  you  burn  her  stomach,  please,  Honor- 
able Doctor  Madam?" 

70 


In  the  Medak  Dispensary.     Offerings  of  a  grateful  patient  (child), 

sheep  and  garlands.     Mother  in  bhourka.     Dr.  Munson 

holds  child  on  her  knee. 


Mahomedan  Madas  bringing  gratitude  offering  of  sheep  garlanded 
with  flowers.     Dr.  Munson  seated. 


THANKSGIVING   IN   INDIA 

"Why?"  I  asked  in  amazement,  for  the  child 
was  in  perfect  health. 

"Oh,  it  will  keep  her  well.  My  stomach  was 
burned  when  I  was  a  baby,  and  see  how  well  I 
am,"  and  she  proudly  displayed  three  wide  ugly 
scars  on  her  brown  skin. 

Will  the  Indian  hakims  ever  realize  for  how 
much  their  ignorance  is  responsible? 

A  child  was  brought  to  us  with  her  eyelids 
nearly  burned  through  for  a  simple  inflamma- 
tion. When  I  asked  her  mother  what  other  treat- 
ment the  eyes  had  received  besides  the  burning, 
she  replied:  "The  hakim  has  done  all  things 
known  to  him.  The  last  treatment  was  red  pep- 
per to  be  rubbed  into  the  eyes  every  hour." 

A  day  later  came  a  baby  boy  struggling  with 
agony  in  his  mother's  arms,  the  delicate  flesh  of 
his  abdomen  so  deeply  burned  that  the  bowel 
slightly  protruded  and  made  his  death  inevitable. 

Five-year-old  Mahomedan  Madas  was  brought 
to  us  with  his  cheek  torn  open  from  nose  to  ear 
and  deep  down  to  the  bone  where  one  of  the  vi- 
cious Indian  ponies  had  bitten  him.  The  village 
hakim  had  put  foul  dressings  on  the  wound  till  it 
was  thoroughly  poisoned  and  the  child  was  dan- 
gerously ill.  Every  day  he  had  to  undergo  a 
very  painful  treatment,  but  he  seemed  to  know 
we  were  trying  to  help  him,  for  only  a  low  moan 

71 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

now  and  then  betrayed  his  suffering.  Madas 
must  have  felt  that  the  last  Thursday  in  Novem- 
ber was  a  day  of  special  gratitude,  for  that  morn- 
ing he,  with  his  mother  and  aunt,  walked  into 
the  dispensary,  leading  by  a  rope  of  grass  a  large 
black  sheep  garlanded  with  wild  flowers.  The 
boy  bowed  to  the  ground  in  his  salaam,  and  as 
he  placed  the  leading  rope  in  my  hand,  lisped: 
"Because  you  made  me  well,  dear  Doctor  Mem 
Sahib,  I  now  with  deep  gratitude  present  to  you 
my  sheep." 

We  heard  a  sound  of  wheels  and  a  loud  shuf- 
fling in  the  courtyard  as  a  zenana  bandy,  cov- 
ered over  with  plaited  straw  and  closely  cur- 
tained, emptied  its  contents.  Whenever  a 
zenana  handy  emptied  its  contents,  I  felt  inclined 
to  doubt  the  old  axiom,  ''No  two  bodies  of  matter 
can  occupy  the  same  space  at  the  same  time." 
After  the  patient,  an  old  lady  with  chronic  indi- 
gestion, had  been  helped  out,  there  slowly  clam- 
bered to  the  ground  women  with  their  head  cov- 
ering thrown  back  as  if  in  enjoyment  of  the 
untainted  air  of  heaven;  ornaments  covering 
nose,  ears,  forehead,  neck,  arms,  ankles,  fingers, 
and  toes,  chinking  heavily  as  they  walked;  and, 
in  almost  every  instance,  plump  babies  sat  astride 
their  hips.  Then  there  tumbled  out  small  boys 
in  red  fez  and  long,  white  coat  and  trousers;  and 

72 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

girls  in  gay  pajamas  and  short  over-garment  of 
coarse  net,  their  bodies  loaded  with  ornaments 
like  their  elders.  Bonny  youngsters  these  who 
seized  our  hands  and  danced  around  us  begging 
for  a  rose  or  a  doll  or  a  sweet,  their  black  eyes 
looking  out  of  chubby  olive  faces,  full  of  a  win- 
ning impudence.  But  they  had  learned  courtesy, 
too,  for  nothing  was  received  without  a  clear- 
voiced  *'Salaam,  Doctor  Mem  Sahib!"  and  a 
graceful  bend  from  the  waist,  as  the  right  hand 
was  pressed  to  the  forehead. 

Then  came  the  usual  equipment  of  a  patient 
who  expects  to  remain  in  the  hospital:  Brass 
cooking  utensils  of  every  imaginable  size  and 
shape,  rice,  clarified  butter,  vegetables  for  cur- 
ries, other  foodstuffs,  and  then  a  pile  of  wraps 
and  bedding. 

In  these  matters  our  hospital  had  to  depart 
from  strict  Western  discipline.  Unless  the  fam- 
ily, or  at  least  one  or  two  members  of  it,  had 
been  allowed  to  move  in  with  all  the  parapher- 
nalia necessary  to  light  housekeeping,  we  should 
have  had  no  patients  in  our  hospital.  In  a  way 
it  was  a  help,  because,  never  having  enough 
nurses  and  other  hospital  assistants,  we  resigned 
much  of  the  care  of  the  patient  to  her  family  with, 
of  course,  careful  supervision  by  our  own  nurses. 

Very  different  from  the  Mahomedan  children 

73 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

was  the  naked  Hindu  boy  close  by,  who,  with 
the  sacred  lock  of  his  crown  hanging  listlessly 
from  his  shorn  head,  shrank  behind  his  mother 
with  a  wail  of  fright  at  the  strange  white  faces. 

Another  fracture  and  another  hakim  treat- 
ment! The  boy's  hand  was  badly  swollen,  the 
arm  bound  in  a  vise,  and  the  fracture  not  reduced 
at  all.  This  time  the  sufferer  was  a  Brahman 
boy,  and,  when  the  arm  was  neatly  dressed  and 
bound,  his  mother,  who  had  accompanied  him, 
inquired:  **How  can  he  bathe?" 

"Let  him  bathe  the  rest  of  his  body,  but  leave 
that  one  arm,"  I  replied. 

"Then  he  cannot  eat,"  she  argued,  "for  he  is 
a  Brahman."  And  she  departed  with  a  look  on 
her  face  which  plainly  said,  "Fracture  or  no 
fracture,  that  arm  shall  be  washed  before  he 
touches  a  morsel  of  food."  I  have  no  doubt  that 
twice  daily  our  dressings  were  soaked  with  water 
if  not  entirely  removed. 

At  the  far  corner  of  the  men's  veranda 
crouched  a  tall  Hindu,  now  fingering  his  necklet 
of  snakes'  vertebrae  and  now  a  written  charm — 
mantrum — in  a  brass  box  tied  around  his  arm. 
His  eyes  were  wide  with  terror  and  his  lips 
scarcely  able  to  frame  a  request  to  have  an 
abscess  cut.  His  baby  son  had  just  been  cured 
of  an  abscess  covering  nearly  the  whole  leg,  and 

74 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

the  man's  confidence  in  our  healing  powers  had 
overbalanced  his  fear  of  the  knife  sufficiently  to 
bring  him  to  us. 

*'Now,  have  courage,"  I  exclaimed,  *'and  it  will 
be  over  in  a  second." 

"Oh,  no,  oh,  no!"  he  howled.  "Give  me 
sleeping  medicine  as  you  gave  to  my  little  boy. 
I  have  no  courage ;  I  shall  die !" 

So  a  whiff  or  two  of  chloroform,  a  quick  cut,  a 
simple  dressing,  and  all  was  over,  and  the  grate- 
ful fellow  pressed  his  forehead  to  our  shoes. 

"And  how  did  you  say  I  am  to  take  this  medi- 
cine?" inquired  an  old  woman  to  whom  I  had 
already  given  clearest  directions  in  my  best 
Telugu. 

"Four  days,  eight  doses,  one  dose  every  morn- 
ing, one  dose  every  evening." 

"Salaam,  honorable  lady,  I  am  your  slave;  it 
is  four  doses  and  every  evening  I  shall  drink." 

"No,  eight  doses,  four  days." 

"Yes,  my  honorable  grandmother,  I  kiss  your 
feet ;  I  shall  drink  in  the  morning  and  not  in  the 
evening,  for  eight  days." 

"No,"  desperately.  "Now  listen !  Four  days, 
eight  doses,  every  day  two  doses,  one  in  the  morn- 
ing and  one  in  the  evening.   Good-by !  Salaam !" 

"Salaam,  my  queen  of  queens!    I  will  do  as 

75 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

you  say  and  will  not  drink  in  the  morning  or  in 
the  evening,  but  in  the  noonday  for  eight  days." 

And  off  she  went,  repeating  and  re-repeating 
the  directions  with  her  own  variations,  and  I 
could  only  feel  grateful  that  the  remedy  was 
harmless  and  her  mode  of  taking  it  mattered 
little. 

A  few  more  malarias  and  bronchitises,  two 
major  surgical  operations,  and  then  breakfast, 
which  consisted  of  fruit,  followed  by  curry  and 
rice  and  always  tea. 

After  breakfast  came  the  noonday  rest-time, 
when  all  the  Indian  world  sleeps  and  the  very  in- 
sects seem  to  hold  their  breath. 

Nap  ended,  I  went  out  to  tea,  which,  like  chofa 
hacrai,  was  a  simple  meal — fruit,  bread,  cakes, 
jam  and  tea. 

Another  look  at  the  patients,  and  then  I  gal- 
loped off  to  make  my  afternoon  visits  in  the  vil- 
lage, my  syce,  with  one  hand  on  the  stirrup,  run- 
ning beside  the  horse. 

In  the  West,  what  a  record  in  cross-country 
running  the  Indian  syce  would  make ! 

Our  Davadass,  a  man  of  fifty  years,  has  run 
one  hundred  miles  in  two  days — fifty  miles,  a 
night's  rest,  and  then  the  other  fifty.  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  watch  him  as,  with  dhoti  bound 
tightly  around  the  loins,  he  would  run  on  and  on 

76 


Dr.  Munson  operating  in  Medak  Hospital 


Corner  of  medical  ward,  Medak  Hospital.     Dr.  Munson 
with  head  nurse  and  patients. 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

with  swift  rhythmical  gait  that  never  seemed  to 
weary. 

Dinner  was  at  half  past  seven— my  Thanks- 
giving dinner !  The  turkey  at  home  was  repre- 
sented by  jugged  goat  which,  though  not  so 
strongly  flavored  with  circus  posters  as  might 
be  expected,  required  some  skill  and  experience 
in  the  art  of  mastication.  I  looked  wistfully  on 
while  the  others  ate  with  relish  such  barbarities 
as  tahku  (the  Indian  hot  flavoring  agent),  kah- 
ram  curry  (it  is  a  wonder  there  was  any  skin 
left  on  their  tongues!),  and  the  native  vegetables 
which  all  tasted  alike  to  me  and  all  like  slippery 
elm.  But  then  I  reflected  with  pride  that  the 
ancient  Romans  did  not  surpass  us  altogether  in 
luxury  of  diet,  for  one  evening  we  dined  on  pea- 
cock and  ants'  eyes.  The  peacock  was  no  less 
palatable  because  the  entire  bird  cost  but  six- 
teen cents ;  and  the  ants'  eyes  were  no  less  highly 
valued  because  we  had  them  at  every  meal — with 
the  rest  of  the  ants'  "material  organized  sub- 
stance" (Venkiti  always  forgot  to  cover 
the  sugar  bowl). 

As  for  the  peacock,  when  I  learned  what  the 
poor  thing  had  suffered  before  its  death,  my  con- 
science smote  me  for  having  eaten  it.  That  the 
birds  may  not  be  able  to  find  their  way  back  to 
the  woods,  the  trappers  sew  their  eyelids  together, 

77 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

not  always  careful  to  sew  the  eyelids  only;  fre- 
quently the  eye  is  pierced. 

After  dinner,  I  went  again  to  the  hospital,  had 
a  few  friendly  chats  with  the  patients,  and  then 
came  in  to  study  for  a  while  under  the  light  of 
the  big  punkah  lamp  (a  lamp  with  a  shade  sur- 
rounding all  the  sides  and  curving  over  the  top, 
protecting  it  from  the  breeze  of  the  punkah). 

The  jackals  howled  vociferously;  the  flying- 
fox  gave  every  now  and  then  a  shrill,  hissing 
whistle;  the  night  owls  hooted  mournfully,  and 
the  frogs  and  crickets  joined  their  voices  to  the 
chorus.  Everything  was  so  different  from  home 
— the  loneliness,  the  eternal  summer,  the  heavy 
responsibility!  I  was  too  busy  in  those  Indian 
days  for  a  severe  attack  of  homesickness,  for 
every  minute  had  its  pressing  duty  which  could 
not  be  put  aside  for  any  little  "joy  in  sorrow"  of 
mine.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  sometimes  that  the 
world  was  very  thick  through,  and  the  word 
"America"  sent  an  almost  painful  thrill  down 
my  spinal  column.  I  liked  my  work;  I  liked 
India;  but  my  altogether  lovely  home  country 
grew  dearer  to  me  every  day. 

East,  West, 
Home's  best ! 

But   the   air   was   fragrant   with   the  breath 

of  jasmine  and  roses  and  oleander,  and  the  moon- 

78 


THANKSGIVING   IN    INDIA 

light  was  glorious.  I  was  glad  indeed  to  see  my 
dear  "Moon-girl's"  friendly,  comforting  glance. 
In  India,  the  Moon-girl  does  not  hold  up  her 
head  in  her  proud  American  way,  but  gazes  ever 
downward.  Astronomers  may  call  it  ''diurnal 
libration,"  or  what  they  will,  but  I  know  she 
bows  her  head  in  sadness  for  that  sad  land. 

So  the  day  ended,  and,  creeping  into  my 
veranda  cot,  I  forgot  Thanksgiving  Day  in  for- 
eign lands  and  all  other  forms  of  self-pity,  and 
slept  dreamlessly  under  the  Moon-girl's  tender 
gaze  and  the  soft  caress  of  the  night  breezes. 


XIII 

CHRISTMAS 

I  HAVE  already  described  the  charm  of  the 
Christmas  season  in  India;  the  bahny  air, 
the   weahh   of   garden   bloom,   the   green 
trees  and  greener  grass  giving  no  hint  of  the 
cold,  white  Christmas  season  of  the  West. 

My  first  Christmas  at  Medak  was  just  such 
a  day  as  India  expects  at  that  time  of  year — not 
a  cloud  in  the  sky.  From  the  dark  of  Christ- 
mas Eve  to  the  dawn  of  Christmas  Day,  the 
boys  and  girls  and  coolies  came  in  sets  and  sang 
Christmas  carols  near  the  veranda  where  we  lay 
in  bed,  only  stopping  when  a  present  was  thrown 
to  them. 

The  morning  service  was  held  at  the  dliar- 
matsahla,  a  sort  of  hostelry  whose  generous  size 
helps  much  toward  the  accommodation  in  the 
compound  of  the  thousands  of  Christians  from 
the  district  outside  of  Medak  who  foregather 
with  the  Medak  Christians  on  any  special  oc- 
casion. 

It  was  an  inspiring  scene  when  all  those  In- 

80 


CHRISTMAS 

dian  Christians,  in  their  gaily  colored  clothes  and 
with  eyes  and  teeth  and  jewels  shining  bright 
against  the  brown  of  their  faces,  waved  their 
arms  above  their  heads,  while  they  sang  in  loud, 
jubilant  chorus: 

Victory  to  Jesus ! 
Victory  to  Jesus  Christ! 
Victory  to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ! 
May  His  Kingdom  come!    Amen! 

At  the  school  we  had  games  and  a  merry 
feast  with  the  children,  when  we  all  sat  about 
on  the  floor,  eating  with  our  fingers  from  plain- 
tain  leaf  plates. 

Then  we  superintended  the  festivities  at  the 
hospital.  Every  arch  and  pillar  of  the  long  hos- 
pital veranda  surrounding  the  courtyard  was 
decorated  with  Japanese  lanterns  and  garlands 
of  flowers.  All  the  boys  and  girls  had  pretty 
presents;  and  though  some  of  the  child  invalids 
could  not  be  moved  from  their  beds,  they  stretched 
their  wasted  arms  for  the  big  doll  or  the  toy 
horse  with  all  the  longing  of  the  others. 

At  night,  after  a  huge  bonfire  and  the  distri- 
bution to  the  Christians  of  the  Christmas-tree 
presents,  we  again  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  ate 
with  the  Indian  people.  Then  Mr.  Posnett,  their 
beloved  "Padre  Sahib,"  showered  sweetmeats 
among  them,  and  the  day's  festivities  were  ended. 

8i 


XIV 
DREAM   DAYS   AMONG  THE   HIMALAYAS 

WHEN  we  considered  the  pros  and  cons 
of  a  hot  summer  on  the  plains,  the 
cons  predominated  and  we  decided  to 
go  to  Mussoorie  and  Simla. 

On  our  journey,  we  had  the  whole  railway 
coach  to  ourselves,  and,  lounging  in  kimonos, 
we  were  very  comfortable  in  spite  of  the  heat, 
the  ovenlike  breeze  being  cooled  by  its  passage 
through  grass  window  blinds  saturated  with 
water. 

As  we  neared  the  Ganges,  we  passed  a  band  of 
pilgrims,  most  of  them  sick  or  aged,  filing 
through  the  dust  of  the  roadway.  Some  of  these 
weaker  ones  crept  painfully  along  by  themselves; 
some  leant  on  the  arms  of  their  stronger  com- 
panions ;  and  all  struggled  onward  with  the  hope 
of  washing  in  the  sacred  Ganges  before  their 
death. 

At  Dehra  Doon  we  came  to  the  last  railway 
station  before  the  ascent  to  Mussoorie.  After  a 
refreshing  lunch  and  rest  at  the  hotel,  a  four- 

82 


AMONG    THE    HIMALAYAS 

mile  drive  through  the  Doon,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  fertile  of  Indian  valleys  south  of 
Kashmir,  brought  us  to  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tains ;  and  then  came  a  ride  of  eight  miles  up  the 
steep  mountainside,  in  a  dandy  (a  cushioned, 
boat-shaped  chair  carried  on  the  shoulders  of 
four  coolies). 

The  moonlight  brought  out  clearly  the  sharp, 
black  peaks  high  overhead,  and  threw  colossal 
shadows  on  the  solemn  valley  below.  The  only 
sound  that  reached  us  was  the  pattering  of  the 
coolies'  bare  feet,  or  a  sudden  burst  of  talk  or 
song  or  laughter  among  them.  Round  and  round 
the  mountain  we  curved,  its  rocky  walls  reach- 
ing straight  up  for  hundreds  of  feet  above  our 
narrow  path,  and  straight  down,  blotted  out  in 
a  yawning  chasm  of  darkness  below.  Then  came 
the  quiet  coolness  of  the  denser  wood,  and  my 
head  gave  several  warning  nods;  so,  half-asleep 
and  half -awake,  I  passed  through  that  seductive 
green  to  the  heights  beyond. 

There  at  Mussoorie,  where  the  season  was 
like  England's  June-time,  we  passed  delightful 
days  among  the  pines  and  woodland  flowers, 
while,  above  the  clouds  high  overhead,  the  ma- 
jestic, snow-crowned  Himalayas,  range  on  range, 
swept  off  into  space. 

83 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Then  on  we  went  to  Simla,  Kipling's  paradise 
on  earth. 

As  at  Mussoorie,  we  spent  most  of  our  time 
dreaming  the  days  away  "under  the  deodars," 
but  we  also  enjoyed  wandering  about  the  village 
searching  out  the  places  filled  with  memories  of 
Kim  and  other  friends. 


XV 
BACK   TO   THE   PLAINS 

DORA  CH  ATTERJEE,  my  college  friend, 
whose  sister,  Mrs.  Nundy,  I  had  vis- 
ited in  Hyderabad,  had  invited  me  to 
her  home  in  Hoshiarpur,  so,  arranging  to  meet 
the  English  girls  on  the  way  back  to  Medak,  I 
went  to  Hoshiarpur.  Dora's  cousin,  a  young  In- 
dian prince,  met  me  at  Jullundar,  and  we  chatted 
pleasantly  until  Dora's  father,  Dr.  Chatterjee, 
the  well-known  scholar  and  philanthropist  of  the 
Punjaub,  arrived  to  take  me  to  Hoshiarpur,  some 
twenty-five  miles  distant.  As  we  bowled  over 
the  smooth,  hard  road,  as  well  kept  as  a  city  mall, 
Dr.  Chatterjee  told  me  fascinating  tales  of  his 
boyhood  days  when  he  was  a  Bengali  Brahman, 
and  of  the  bitter  persecution  he  suffered  when 
he  became  a  Christian.  The  long  drive  seemed 
scarcely  to  have  begun  before  it  ended  and  we 
were  at  Hoshiarpur,  where  my  dear  college  mate 
and  her  charming  mother  and  sisters  greeted  me 
most  cordially. 

The  Chatterjee  homestead  was  a  fine  old  place, 

85 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

indeed,  a  large,  white  bungalow  encircled  by  wide 
verandas  and  set  far  back  from  the  road  amid 
shade  trees,  orchards  and  gardens. 

The  days  passed  swiftly  and  pleasantly. 
Every  morning  Dora  and  I  rose  with  the  sun, 
and,  after  working  most  of  the  day  at  Dora's 
hospital  in  the  city,  we  spent  the  early  evening 
in  one  festivity  or  another — a  tennis  or  badmin- 
ton party,  a  drive,  a  dinner  or  tea,  calls,  and 
usually  two  or  three  combined,  for  there  are  many 
English  people  of  the  Civil  Service  stationed  at 
Hoshiarpur. 

It  was  hard  indeed  to  leave  my  friends  and 
the  happy  life  of  the  Punjaub  to  begin  the  long, 
hot  journey  southward. 

Sightseeing  is,  I  think,  usually  more  interest- 
ing than  comfortable,  and  my  experience  in 
Delhi  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The  place 
was  like  a  furnace,  but  fascinating  in  the  curious 
mixture  of  growth  and  decay  that  marks  this 
old  city  which  was  for  so  many  generations  the 
capital  of  the  Mogul  emperors. 

Chandni  Chauk,  the  "Street  of  Light,"  might 
be  termed  also  the  ''Street  of  Life,"  for  I  never 
before  saw  or  heard  such  a  swarm  of  bees  in 
butterfly  garb  and  human  form  as  that  which 
makes  this  street  one  of  the  busiest  in  India. 

An  English  soldier  took  me  through  the  fort 

86 


Dora  Chatterjee 


BACK  TO  THE   PLAINS 

then  used  as  barracks  for  the  English  army. 
Though  ruinous  far  beyond  the  fort  at  Agra,  it 
was  decidedly  imposing,  and  the  Diwan-i-Khas, 
or  Private  Hall  of  Audience,  was  unique  in  the 
beauty  and  taste  of  its  gorgeous  ornamentation. 
Open  on  all  sides  to  the  palms  and  the  sunshine 
and  the  penetrating  blue  of  the  Indian  sky,  with 
graceful  Saracenic  columns  and  arches,  richly 
carved,  gilded,  and  inlaid,  until  the  whole  room 
is  one  blaze  of  gold  and  silver  and  jewels,  flash- 
ing blue,  red,  purple  and  green,  it  formed  a  fit 
setting  for  the  famous  Peacock  Throne  which 
once  stood  there,  and  you  could  not  wonder  that 
it  inspired  the  distich  written  in  Persian  on  the 
ceiling: 

If  on  earth  be  an  Eden  of  bliss, 
It  is  this !     It  is  this  !     It  is  this ! 

The  Jumma  Musjid  at  Delhi,  the  largest 
mosque  in  the  world,  is  very  majestic  with  its 
white  marble  ornamentation  on  red  sandstone; 
but  I  had  seen  the  Pearl  Mosque  at  Agra,  which 
is  built  on  somewhat  the  same  plan ;  and  the  Pearl 
Mosque  is  so  much  purer  and  lovelier  that  I 
could  part  without  regret  from  the  Jumma 
Musjid. 

Although  it  was  noon  when  I  left  the  Musjid, 
I  drove  eleven  miles  to  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
where,  in  the  midst  of  a  wilderness  of  pathetic 

87 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

ruins,  rose  that  wonderfully  carved  shaft  of  red 
sandstone — world-renowned  and  rarely  beauti- 
ful—the Kutb-Minar ! 

The  drive  back  to  the  city  was  cool  and  rest- 
ful, and  I  felt  quite  refreshed  when  I  resumed 
my  railway  journey. 

The  English  girls  had  rejoined  me  and  we 
had  dined  at  one  of  the  stations  when,  as  we  re- 
entered our  coach,  we  saw  that  we  were  not 
alone.  In  one  of  the  ''upper  berths"  a  deer-eyed, 
brown  woman  peeped  shyly  out  from  her 
bhourka.  Close  to  her  breast  she  held  a  chubby 
two-year-old  boy,  who  seemed  inclined  to  cry  at 
sight  of  us.  Just  then  the  anxious  face  of  a 
young  Mahomedan  gentleman  appeared  at  the 
window. 

''Madam,"  said  he  in  English,  "you  must  care 
my  wife  because  she  has  small  child;  because  of 
small  child,  you  must  care.  I  commit  you, 
Madam,  I  commit  you!"  and  he  hurried  away  as 
the  train  started. 

Of  course,  we  helped  the  timid  creatures  down 
to  a  safer  level,  and  did  our  best  to  make  them 
feel  more  at  ease. 

At  Aurungabad  station  we  left  the  train  to 
make  the  trip  to  Ellora  Caves.  It  was  a  long, 
hard  journey  in  the  hot  noonday  up  the  sun-dried, 
lonely  ghats  to  the  caves.     We   frequently  re- 

88 


BACK   TO   THE   PLAINS 

lieved  our  ponies  by  walking,  and  every  few 
minutes  we  sat  down  to  rest.  But  the  heat  and 
the  weariness  were  forgotten  in  our  wonder  and 
admiration  for  those  vast,  underground  temples 
which,  gouged  and  chiseled  ages  ago  out  of  the 
solid  rock,  extend  for  a  mile  and  a  quarter  along 
the  face  of  the  hill. 

As  I  stood  beside  the  Buddha  in  the  ''Car- 
penter's Cave"  my  waist  came  just  to  his  knee, 
and  I  climbed  up  on  the  knee  and  sat  there  for 
a  while  to  give  the  rest  of  our  party  an  idea  of 
the  size  of  the  image. 

In  the  Brahmanical  caves,  the  old  legends  that 
Mrs.  Keskar  had  told  us  came  swarming  back 
upon  me.  The  handsome,  mischievous  boy- 
Krishna  was  there,  and  there  was  Hanaman- 
thadu,  the  Monkey-General.  Gluttonous  Ganesh, 
fat  and  kindly,  with  his  absurd  elephant-head, 
gazed  blandly  at  us  over  his  broken  tusk;  heroic 
Rama  and  his  gentle  Sita  wandered  through  the 
enchanted  wood;  Siva  of  the  frowning  brow  slew 
his  enemies  or  peacefully  played  chess  with  his 
terrible  wife,  Parvati;  and  amorous  Vishnu 
whispered  his  love-tale  into  the  ears  of  Lakshmi, 
his  beautiful  consort. 

Every  line  in  these  underground  marvels  was 
clear  and  accurate.  Each  petal  of  the  lotus- 
flower  stood  out  in  bold  relief;  and  the  pillars  in 

89 


JUNUmySYS 

the  great  vaults  were  as  straight  and  smooth  as 
if  planed  by  an  expert  carpenter.  Nothing  but 
a  visit  to  the  place  itself  could  convey  its  atmos- 
phere, the  dark  corners  w^here  bats  cling  to  the 
ceiling  or  object,  with  sharp  squeaks,  to  being 
disturbed,  the  earthy  dampness,  the  deep,  deep 
recesses  rank  with  the  wild  beast  odor  of  the 
hyenas,  wolves,  and  leopards,  which  frequently 
take  refuge  there,  and  the  filthy  old  priests  who 
keep  the  place  in  order  and  haunt  your  every  foot- 
step begging  for  bakshish. 

Not  only  does  the  Nizam  of  Hyderabad  issue 
his  own  coinage  and  stamps,  but  also  collects 
customs  at  the  boundaries  of  his  territory.  The 
wearisome  ''red  tape"  of  this  customs  procedure 
after  our  midnight  landing  at  Mirzapally  station, 
and  the  five  hours'  jolt  over  rough  roads  while 
our  heads  tumbled  sleepily  about  and  we  hung 
desperately  to  the  tonga  to  keep  from  being 
thrown  to  the  ground,  made  our  compound  seem 
a  veritable  Eden  as  we  entered  its  gates  in  the 
freshness  of  the  early  morning  and  received  the 
hearty  welcome  of  our  people. 


XVI 

WE   GO   A-TOURING 

RESPONDING  to  an   urgent  call   from 
Ellareddypett  to  come  there  with  medi- 
cines, we  made  a  medical  tour  of  a  week 
to  Ellareddypett  and  other  outlying  villages  of 
the  district. 

Our  chaprassi  (messenger  and  guard),  fully 
armed,  went  a  day  in  advance  of  us,  as  he  always 
does  in  case  of  touring,  to  get  the  permission  of 
the  patel  (head  man)  for  our  coming  into  his 
village;  to  arrange  for  the  location  of  the  tent, 
for  the  food  and  other  supplies;  and  to  hire  an 
Indian  band  which  should  emphasize  our  worth 
and  importance  by  parading  the  streets  every 
night  from  sunset  to  dawn  with  instrumental  din 
and  loud  shouts  of,  "The  white  lady  doctors  are 
coming!  Bring  your  sick!  Bring  your  sick! 
They  will  be  cured!" 

Half  a  day  after  the  chaprassi's  departure  went 
our  assistants,  servants,  and  equipment  to  make 
everything  ready  for  immediate  work  on  our 
arrival.     Then  early  next  morning.  Miss  Tom- 

91 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

bleson  and  I  left  the  compound  in  the  "box 
bandy''  bound  for  Ellareddypett,  where  our  way- 
had  been  prepared. 

I  am  a  long-suffering  individual  with  regard 
to  modes  of  travel,  various  or  curious,  but  then 
and  there  I  decided  that,  when  there  should  be 
no  other  vehicle  at  my  disposal  except  our  "box 
bandy,"  the  motion  of  which  resembled  that  of 
a  storm-tossed  ship  in  a  cross-current,  I  should 
risk  the  foot  blisters  and  heat  stroke  of  pedes- 
trianism  in  India! 

When,  after  long  hours  of  rattling  and  bump- 
ing along  the  way,  Miss  Tombleson  had  grown 
sober  in  the  eyes  and  white  about  the  lips,  and  I 
had  passed  through  the  stage  immediately  fol- 
lowing that,  the  sun  was  low  enough  to  risk  walk- 
ing and  we  gladly  crawled  out  of  our  discomfort 
and  stretched  our  cramped  limbs  luxuriously. 

At  Nargareddypett  our  evangelist  and  his  wife 
entertained  us  to  the  best  of  their  ability,  but 
the  dear  people  were  sadly  flustered  in  trying  to 
supply  the  needs  given  us  by  the  complicated 
domestic  life  of  the  West.  We  had  brought  our 
own  loaf  of  bread  and  bottle  of  milk  and,  after 
long  search  and  much  scrubbing,  our  hostess 
produced  two  battered  enameled  plates  and  two 
sea-shells.  That  was  all,  but  we  managed  very 
well  as,  seated  on  the  plank  which  protected  us 

92 


WE   GO   A-TOURING 

from  the  mud  floor,  neatly  and  properly  washed 
with  cow-dung,  we  took  turns  at  tearing  off 
chunks  of  bread  which  we  soaked  in  the  milk 
and  dipped  up  with  the  shells. 

Our  weariness  from  the  day's  travel  made  our 
narrow  string  cot  seem  like  a  state  bed  of  softest 
down.  The  cot  had  been  placed  under  the  win- 
dow of  the  little  room  where  until  midnight  the 
village  Christians  sang  their  evening  hymns — 
flats  a  specialty  and  sound  their  chief  object;  the 
snores  of  the  chaprassi  and  bandy  driver  from 
the  veranda  near  us  came  plainly  to  our  ears; 
and  the  squealing  and  grunting  of  pigs  from  their 
pen  six  yards  away  mingled  with  the  sudden 
snort  of  an  astonished  bullock  or  buffalo  that, 
wandering  idly  about  the  grounds,  had  discov- 
ered on  close  investigation  that  our  faces  were 
not  a  midnight  meal.  Nevertheless,  we  turned 
over — simultaneously  of  necessity — and  slept  like 
babies  till  the  morning  sun  shone  full  on  our  eyes. 

Another  meal  of  bread  and  milk  and  we  started 
again  toward  Ellareddypett.  With  yesterday's 
experience  fresh  in  our  mind,  we  decided  to  walk 
and  trudged  on  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  when  the 
hot  sun  compelled  us  to  seek  the  refuge  of  the 
cart. 

A  royal  welcome  awaited  us  at  Ellareddy- 
pett.    Mr.  Bursoji,  the  Avul  Taluqudar  (chief 

93 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

governor  of  the  district),  is  a  warm  friend  of 
Mr.  Posnett's,  so  here  in  Mr.  Bursoji's  province 
everything  was  ours  and  the  principal  officials 
of  the  place,  anxious  to  please  their  lord,  treated 
us  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  consideration. 

We  were  grateful  for  the  courtesy  which  had 
placed  at  our  disposal  the  best  house  in  town, 
notwithstanding  the  readily  overlooked  discom- 
fort of  the  small,  dark  rooms  with  walls  dirty 
with  the  dirt  of  a  dirty  generation,  and  of  the 
rickety  wooden  stairs  of  the  step-ladder  variety 
which  led  to  a  rough  loft  above  and  which 
swayed  under  our  weight,  threatening  at  every 
moment  to  precipitate  us  to  the  floor  below. 

As  usual,  we  walked  through  the  town  in  pro- 
cession to  let  the  people  know  we  had  come,  and 
everywhere  we  were  greeted  most  cordially.  We 
saw  several  former  patients,  wives  and  children 
of  rich  Jain  merchants,  who  loaded  us  with  gifts 
of  various  foodstuffs  and  told  our  servants  not 
to  pay  for  supplies  while  in  town,  but  to  send  to 
them  for  anything  we  wished. 

The  Jains,  few  in  number,  are  the  remnant 
of  the  Indian  Buddhists,  and  their  faces  show 
clearly  their  Mongolian  origin.  They  are  ex- 
tremists in  the  matter  of  protecting  animal  life. 
They  cremate  their  dead  on  a  stone  carefully 
brushed,  that  no  insect  life  may  be  unwittingly 

94 


WE   GO  A-TOURING 

taken,  and  they  have  established  in  Bombay  an 
asylum  for  the  lower  animal  life,  including  fleas 
and  other  insects ;  there  men  receive  a  daily  wage 
for  allowing  the  fleas  to  feed  on  their  blood. 

It  seemed  incongruous  for  the  mother  of  the 
family,  dressed  in  costliest  silks  and  velvets  and 
loaded  with  jewels,  to  squat  beside  her  tiny, 
smoky  stone  fireplace  and  cook  the  evening  meal 
with  her  own  hands.  This  is  compulsory  on  ac- 
count of  strict  religious  rules  in  regard  to  the 
purity  of  food  eaten.  This  same  lady  showed  us 
with  fond  pride  her  bedroom,  a  closet-like  apart- 
ment, with  one  small  window — its  only  furniture 
a  string  cot  and  a  tall  brass  stand  holding  a  clay 
lamp.  All  around  the  wall  on  shelves  were 
dozens  of  brass  and  silver-plated  cups  and  mugs 
and  vases,  while  from  the  ceiling  hung  suspended 
colored  balls  of  tinsel  like  Christmas  tree  orna- 
ments. 

When  bedtime  came,  I  recalled  one  of  little 
Eva  Adkin's  remarks.  The  mosquitoes  had  been 
unusually  troublesome  at  Medak,  and  Eva  in- 
quired :  ''Mother,  what  is  the  use  of  mosquitoes  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear,"  replied  her  mother,  "but 
everything  God  has  placed  on  earth  is  of  some 


use." 


'I    suppose,"    concluded    Eva    thoughtfully, 

95 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

"when  I  go  to  heaven  it  wouldn't  be  poHte  to  ask 
God  about  that." 

My  meditations  at  Ellareddypett  were  to  the 
effect  that  I  should  risk  the  impropriety  and 
seek  a  reason  for  the  existence  of  the  pests. 
When  the  torment  from  the  vicious  creatures  be- 
came absolutely  unendurable,  we  formed  rolls 
from  newspapers  and,  covering  our  heads  with 
the  sheet,  pushed  one  end  of  the  roll  outside, 
making  a  passage  for  the  air.  When  sleep  over- 
came us,  the  rolls  fell  to  the  floor  and  we  slept  on 
unconscious  of  the  vitiated  air  until  the  dawn 
found  us  gasping  for  breath  and  coolness. 

A  third  of  the  inhabitants  of  Ellareddypett 
were  afflicted  with  elephantiasis,  that  disease  of 
slow  and  insidious  development  which  gives  to  its 
victims  monstrous  limbs  like  the  limbs  of  an  ele- 
phant. The  people  thus  affected  appeared  to 
think  their  misfortune  a  trivial  matter,  and  laugh- 
ingly showed  us  their  misshapen  limbs  with  the 
remark,  "We  want  no  medicine  for  it;  it  troubles 
us  not  at  all." 

On  the  last  evening  of  our  stay  at  his  village, 
the  Mahomedan  Tahsildar  of  Ellareddypett  sent 
us  a  sumptuous  dinner  and  called  a  few  hours 
later  to  say  farewell.  The  old  man  is  childless, 
but  he  accepts  this  greatest  affliction  with  a 
philosophy  worthy  of  imitation. 

96 


WE   GO   A-TOURING 

"I  had  children,  boys  and  girls,  but  they  are 
dead !"  he  sighed.  ''Kismet!  We  are  taught  not 
to  grieve,"  and,  touching  his  brow  with  his  fore- 
finger, he  turned  away  with  a  patient  smile. 

For  our  protection  on  the  road  to  our  next 
stopping  place,  the  Tahsildar  sent  with  us  a 
government  chaprassi. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  chaprassi  in  injured 
tones,  when  the  Tahsildar  admonished  him  to 
take  good  care  of  us.  "Will  I  not  protect  the 
Mem  Sahibs?  Do  I  not  wear  this?"  And  he 
clapped  his  hand  boastfully  on  his  brass  plate  of 
office  attached  to  the  shabbiest  of  brown  shoulder 
straps.  The  noble  gallant  proved  his  devotion 
by  always  being  somewhere  else  when  wanted 
and  by  valiantly  hitting  with  his  stick  the  small 
boys  who  came  in  innocent  curiosity  to  gaze  at 
the  white  ladies. 

So,  safe  in  the  care  of  the  doughty  chaprassi, 
we  passed  through  the  old  crumbling  city  gate 
and  came  immediately  upon  a  holy  well,  a  struc- 
ture about  twenty  feet  square  by  many  more 
deep,  with  elaborately  carved  stone  balconies. 
All  around  the  inside  were  stone  steps  leading  to 
the  water,  by  which  the  worshiper  goes  down 
into  the  well  and  leaves  it  after  his  bath  of  puri- 
fication to  enter  one  of  the  near-by  temples,  each 
dedicated  to  a  different  god.     After  ringing  a 

97 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

bell  to  call  the  attention  of  the  god  to  his  pres- 
ence, the  devotee  places  his  offering  at  the  altar 
and  prostrates  himself  in  prayer. 

The  idol  in  each  temple  is  locked  in  a  small 
room  where  only  the  privileged  may  enter,  but 
we  peeped  through  the  chinks  in  one  of  the  doors, 
and  as  our  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness we  could  see  the  gaudy,  hideous  thing  in  its 
gold  and  silver  ornaments  perched  on  its  sacred 
chair,  while  the  strong  smell  of  incense  reached 
our  nostrils. 

At  Kaliampett,  the  officials  of  the  village  placed 
the  new  dak  bungalow  at  our  service  and,  like  the 
Ellareddypett  officials,  did  all  they  could  to  make 
our  visit  pleasant. 

Chota  hasrai  was  scarcely  over  next  morning 
when  Abbishakamma  came  running  to  say 
that  in  the  night,  at  the  very  gates  of  the  vil- 
lage, a  leopard  had  injured  a  woman  and  that 
they  were  bringing  her  to  us.  The  victim,  a 
Lombardy  (Indian  gypsy)  girl  barely  nineteen 
years  of  age,  was  terribly  mutilated  about  the 
face  and  chest ;  blood  dripped  from  the  wounds  ; 
her  face  was  convulsed  with  terror ;  and  she  con- 
stantly screamed,  "Yahdardai!  Yahdardai!"  (Oh 
me!  Oh  me!) 

The  savage  creature  had  struck  her  as  she  lay 
sleeping,  her  shrieks  had  awakened  the  rest,  and 

98 


WE   GO  A-TOURING 

their  cries  had  driven  it  away.  As  it  slunk  off, 
however,  it  snatched  from  its  mother's  arms  a 
boy  three  months  old,  and  bore  him  away  to 
the  woods.  The  poor  mother,  they  told  me,  re- 
fused to  be  comforted,  and  there  was  terrible 
confusion  in  the  gypsy  camp. 

After  dressing  her  wounds,  we  sent  the  girl 
away  somewhat  pacified,  but,  through  the  wil- 
derness of  bandages  and  strapping,  there  still 
came  the  low  frightened  moan,  "Yahdardai! 
Yahdardai!" 

Our  next  stopping  place  was  on  the  homeward 
route  at  a  large,  clean  village  by  the  side  of  a 
clear  lake,  and  we  pitched  our.  tent  under  a  hos- 
pitably spreading  tamarind  tree.  Then  for  sev- 
eral days  we  led  a  gypsy  life  in  the  jungle. 

The  cooking  was  done  in  a  stone  fireplace  under 
a  tree,  and,  in  spite  of  the  primitive  conveniences, 
excellent  meals  were  prepared.  Though  the  eggs 
were  strained  through  the  cook's  unwashed  fin- 
gers and  the  dishes  were  dried  on  the  duster,  we 
were  grateful  that  the  eggs  were  not  strained,  as 
is  sometimes  the  case,  through  the  cook's  sleep- 
ing-blanket, and  that  the  dishes  were  not  dried, 
as  they  frequently  are,  on  the  lamp  cloth. 

All  day  long  people  thronged  to  the  tent,  some 
for  medicine,  some  to  satisfy  their  curiosity. 

On  the  first  day  came  the  important  officials  of 

99 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

the  village,  who  tried  to  sit  on  chairs  in  the  Eng- 
lish manner,  but  who  continually  forgot  and  rest- 
lessly curled  their  feet  under  them  or  drew  their 
knees  to  their  chins  as  they  talked. 

Then  followed  the  villagers,  each  holding  out  a 
hand,  with  the  laconic,  "J  err  a  soodool"  (Just 
see!)  and  when  we  asked  them  if  they  suffered 
pain,  staring  in  surprise  with  the  exclamation: 
"You  have  felt  my  pulse;  you  are  a  doctor; 
should  you  not  know  better  than  we?" 

There  were  also  the  women  who  came  timidly 
to  the  tent,  now  drawing  near  and  now  retreating, 
needing  medicine  but  afraid  to  drink  for  fear  of 
some  evil  result  from  the  drugs  of  the  ''for- 
eigner." One  of  them  told  us  she  feared  to  drink 
the  medicine  lest  her  babies  be  born  white. 

''Never  mind!"  I  replied,  "if  your  children  are 
born  white,  put  them  out  in  the  sun  a  little  while ; 
they  will  soon  be  black  enough." 

Several  of  the  women  hid  the  faces  of  the  ba- 
bies lest  we  should  cast  the  "evil  eye"  upon  them. 
The  usual  number  of  questions  were  asked  as 
to  what  we  ate  and  how,  why  we  came  to  India, 
what  salary  we  received,  how  old  we  were, 
whether  Miss  Tombleson  and  I  were  sisters 
or  merely  of  the  same  caste,  where  our  husbands 
were,  and  other  delicate  and  impersonal  inquiries, 
till  our  brains  and  tongues  wearied  with  the  ef- 

loo 


WE   GO   A-TOURING 

fort  of  making  tactful   and  noncommittal   an- 
swers. 

Came  also  the  hopeless  cases  that  had  tried 
everything  else  before  risking  treatment  by  the 
"white  people/' 

And  with  them  all  those  sufferers  who  greatly 
needed  us  and  wanted  us  and  for  whose  sake  only 
we  should  gladly  have  come. 

It  was  rather  a  shock  to  such  faith  as  the  peo- 
ple had  in  us  when  they  learned  that  we  could  not 
give  brains  to  an  idiot  girl  nor  arms  to  a  babe 
born  without  those  useful  members,  but,  in  spite 
of  our  glaring  failures  of  this  sort,  they  showed 
no  lack  of  cordiality  in  their  request  that  we  come 
to  their  village  once  a  week  with  medicines. 

At  the  end  of  every  day,  after  the  crowds  about 
the  tent  had  gone  to  their  homes  for  the  evening 
meal,  Miss  Tombleson  and  I  would  have  a  short 
swim  in  the  lake  or,  lounging  on  the  steps  of  one 
of  those  ruined  temples  almost  invariably  found 
on  the  banks  of  Indian  lakes,  we  would  pass  the 
time  with  song  or  story  or  silently  watch  the  glo- 
rious color  pageant  in  the  western  sky. 

After  dinner  we  would  play  chess  in  the  light 
of  the  big  lantern  until  roused  from  our  ab- 
sorption in  the  game  by  the  tempting  fragrance  of 
hot  chocolate  and  the  voice  of  the  boy  over  the 

lOI 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

steaming  cups:  "Missy  ordering  hot  chocolate  at 
bedtime;  I  bringing." 

So  our  tour  ended  and  we  Game  back,  half 
glad,  half  sorry,  to  the  routine  of  life  at  Medak. 


XVII 

I 

ON   HORSEBACK   AND   OFF 

OUR  ponies  were  startled  when,  as  we  rode 
through  Medak  one  evening,  a  man  sud- 
denly appeared  in  front  of  us  sobbing 
and  begging  us  to  save  the  life  of  his  daughter. 
We  stopped  to  see  what  we  could  do,  but  always 
the  same  old  story.  The  medicine  of  every  hakim 
in  the  place  had  been  tried,  and  we  were  called 
in  when  but  a  flicker  of  hope  remained. 

I  saw  that  the  little  girl's  life  was  nearly  ended, 
but  I  gave  her  some  medicine. 

"I  am  your  loving  daughter,  Doctor  Mem  Sa- 
hib!" she  whispered,  her  thin  hand  weakly  clasp- 
ing mine.  *'You  will  cure  me,  won't  you?"  Then, 
after  a  brief  silence,  and  shyly:  "You  have  such 
beautiful  dolls!  If  I  had  a  doll,  I  think  I  should 
get  well." 

Hastening  to  the  compound,  I  returned  with  a 
pretty  English  doll  and,  as  the  child  clasped  it  in 
her  arms,  her  smile  was  radiant. 

"Now  I  shall  get  well  very  fast,"  she  mur- 
mured and  sank  into  the  death  stupor. 

103 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Two  hours  later  when  I  called  again,  the  loud 
wailing  told  its  own  story.  The  child  spirit  had 
gone  home,  and  the  doll  still  lay  close  against  the 
quiet  little  bosom. 

It  was  an  interesting  change  from  our  usual 
twilight  gallop  on  the  ponies  when  Dadu  Badsha 
lent  us  one  of  his  elephants  for  a  ride. 

An  elephant's  back  is  as  accommodating  as  a 
Broadway  surface  car — always  room  for  one 
more — so  eight  of  us,  by  the  help  of  a  ladder 
against  the  side  of  the  kneeling  elephant,  and  the 
supplementary  aid  of  our  "Padre  Sahib's"  strong 
right  arm,  mounted.  Then,  holding  for  dear  life 
to  the  ropes  that  fastened  the  blankets  securely 
in  place,  we  waited  until  the  changing  slant  of 
the  broad  back  had  become  level  before  we 
breathed  again.  So,  clinging  fast  to  the  ropes, 
we  swung  and  lunged  and  swayed  as  the  elephant 
ponderously  made  a  circuit  of  the  compound,  and 
the  anxious  mahout,  seated  on  the  elephant's  neck 
with  his  cruel-looking  hook  in  hand,  glanced 
round  every  little  while  to  see  if  the  laughing, 
careless  riders  behind  him  were  safe. 

''How  terrible  it  would  be  if  we  should  fall !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Adkin,  taking  a  firmer  grip  on 
the  rope. 

''Don't  worry.  Mother !"  said  five-year-old  Eric, 
reassuringly  clasping  his  arms  about  his  mother's 

104 


ON   HORSEBACK  AND   OFF 

waist.    "You  cannot  fall  for  I  will  hold  you  very 
tightly!" 

The  sun  was  sinking  to-day  when  we  returned 
from  our  village  visits,  and  we  were  somewhat 
alarmed  for,  in  spite  of  the  teachings  of  the  Ko- 
ran and  the  Vedas,  many  Mahomedan  and  Hindu 
peasants  get  drunk  every  evening  at  twilight,  and 
the  scenes  in  the  village  at  that  time  are  both  piti- 
ful and  disgusting.  It  is  not  unusual  to  see  a 
babe  of  four  or  five  years  reeling  drunkenly  from 
one  to  another  of  his  drunken  parents,  who, 
laughing  uproariously  at  the  child's  efforts  to 
control  his  feet  and  tongue,  ply  him  with  more 
rice  liquor  or  palm  toddy  until  he  drops  helpless. 

On  the  evening  of  which  I  write  we  urged  our 
ponies  to  special  haste  and  were  glad  when  we 
found  ourselves  within  the  gates  of  the  com- 
pound, for  the  feast  of  Sankurathri  would  soon 
begin. 

To  everyone  who  knows  of  the  Hindu  gods 
and  the  bestiality  ascribed  to  most  of  them  it 
will  bring  no  surprise  that  the  Hindus  have  an 
annual  feast  of  several  days  when  they  give  them- 
selves entirely  to  the  satisfaction  of  their  lower 
natures,  lying,  thieving  and  otherwise  wronging 
each  other  with  impunity.  On  the  last  night, 
called  ''Sankurathri,"  every  Hindu  may,  without 
sin,  commit  adultery.     From  the  compound  we 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

could  plainly  hear  the  drunken,  discordant  shouts 
and  singing  of  the  villagers,  as  they  celebrated 
this  abominable  feast. 

Not  all  the  Hindu  festivals  are  so  abhorrent. 

The  feast  of  Battakamma,  part  of  the  great 
feast  of  Dasara,  for  the  worship  of  Sarasvathi, 
goddess  of  knowledge,  has  many  beautiful  and 
poetic  features. 

To  celebrate  Dasara,  the  princes  and  nobles 
give  dinners  to  the  people ;  everybody  takes  a  holi- 
day and  wears  new  clothes;  ancestors  are  wor- 
shiped; the  soldier  bows  to  his  sword,  the  mer- 
chant to  his  pile  of  money,  the  farmer  to  his 
plow,  and  all  other  men  to  the  implements  of 
their  various  occupations.  The  streets  are  full 
of  shouting,  singing  Hindus  and  of  garlands, 
bouquets,  and  banks  of  flowers.  Brahman 
schoolboys,  decorated  from  head  to  foot  with 
flowers  and  carrying  wands  and  bows  and  ar- 
rows made  of  flowers,  walk  in  procession  through 
the  town  following  their  schoolmaster  and  stop- 
ping at  the  doors  of  houses  where  they  are  likely 
to  receive  a  present.  The  Mission  bungalows  are 
always  favored  and  before  an  interested  audience 
they  sing  in  loud,  shrill  tones  various  action- 
songs,  until,  notwithstanding  the  picturesque  ap- 
pearance of  the  chorus,  the  missionaries  are 
compelled  to  preserve  their  ear-drums  intact  by 

1 06 


ON    HORSEBACK   AND   OFF 

giving  a  rupee  to  the  joyous  little  bands,  who 
salaam  courteously  and  depart. 

Nevertheless,  even  Dasara  has  its  bitterness, 
for  every  man,  no  matter  how  poor,  is  compelled 
by  public  opinion,  the  merciless  arbiter  of  India's 
fate,  to  celebrate  properly  the  feast  even  though 
he  sell  his  own  child  to  obtain  money  so  to  do. 

And  there  is  another  sort  of  cruelty.  An  im- 
portant ceremony  of  the  festival  is  the  sacrifice 
of  a  goat.  Part  of  the  goat's  tail  is  cut  off  and 
red  pepper  applied  to  the  wound.  In  agony  the 
poor  creature  violently  shakes  the  stump,  scatter- 
ing blood  on  the  bystanders,  who  eagerly  rub  their 
fingers  in  it  and  place  the  bloody  fingers  on  their 
foreheads.  Then,  as  the  goat  must  die  a  sacri- 
fice by  the  hand  of  man  without  the  use  of  a 
knife,  this  "hand  of  man"  drives  a  nail  into  each 
of  the  goat's  eyes  and  ears  and  into  every  other 
orifice  of  the  body,  and  finishes  the  sacrifice  by 
literally  tearing  the  tortured  beast  to  pieces. 

Knowing  such  things  as  this,  do  you  wonder 
that  my  mind  sometimes  reverts  to  the  frequently 
recurring  statements  in  our  popular  Western 
journals,  where  we  of  the  Occident  are  advised 
to  learn  humanity  from  the  East  Indian? 

It  is  true  that  Hindus  worship  many  varieties 
of  dumb  animals;  it  is  true,  they  do  not  often 
kill  them  outright.    They  look  on  indifferently  at 

107 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

a  sick  brute's  hours  or  days  of  agony — ^hopeless 
agony  preceding  death — and  nothing  would 
shock  the  Indian  more  or  cause  his  eyes  to  open 
wider  in  horror  than  the  suggestion  that  he  kill 
the  creature  instantly. 

I  love  my  Indian  people,  and  I  should  like  to 
concur  in  the  optimistic  opinion  of  them  held  by 
our  journals  at  home,  but  I  should  indeed  be  a 
fatuous  believer  in  the  untrue  to  thus  discredit 
the  evidence  of  my  own  senses. 

In  extenuation,  however,  let  me  add  that  the 
barbarities  practiced  by  the  East  Indian  usually 
arise  not  from  a  malignant  spirit,  but  from  a 
childish  lack  of  imagination  or  from  an  apathy 
born  of  the  tropics. 

In  one  of  the  zenanas  I  visited  I  saw  a  part- 
ridge in  a  cage  so  small  that  he  could  scarcely 
stretch  his  neck.  The  people  told  me  they  had 
caught  two  but  one  had  died  and  this  one  was 
always  pecking  at  the  bars  trying  to  free  himself. 
At  my  request,  they  gave  me  the  bird  and,  as  I 
rode  past  a  cornfield,  I  tossed  the  trembling  cap- 
tive from  my  hand  and  he  fluttered  joyously  away 
into  the  corn. 

One  day  I  galloped  past  a  group  of  men  who 
stood  about  some  object  and  from  sheer  curiosity 
I  reined  in  my  pony  to  see  what  was  happening. 
One  of  the  men  had  shot  a  flying  fox  through  the 

J  08 


ON    HORSEBACK  AND   OFF 

wing  and  was  holding  it  out  in  all  its  broad  ex- 
panse while  another  man  was  arranging  a  cam- 
era for  a  photograph.  The  torn  flesh  dripped 
blood  and  at  intervals  of  about  ten  seconds  a  by- 
stander would  strike  with  a  stick  the  broken  bone, 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  wounded  creature 
shrink  back  in  agony.  Each  time  the  act  was 
followed  by  a  loud  laugh  from  everybody  pres- 
ent. The  stern  lecture  I  administered  seemed  to 
shame  the  men,  and  they  promised  to  take  the 
photograph  and  set  the  animal  free  without  fur- 
ther torture. 

It  is  common  in  Bombay  to  load  road  carts  so 
full  that  the  bullocks  are  thrown  up  into  the  air 
from  the  burden. 

Only  by  the  utmost  caution  and  strict  super- 
vision can  a  Western  man  keep  his  own  dumb 
beasts  from  being  starved  by  their  caretakers, 
who  ruthlessly  steal  their  food  and  otherwise 
shamefully  neglect  them.  Sister  Adela  Moss,  one 
of  our  English  ladies,  riding  in  the  bullock  tonga 
with  a  driver  who  had  newly  come  to  the  com- 
pound, saw  him  plunge  an  iron-pointed  stick  into 
the  back  of  the  bullock  as  he  drove,  and  she  in- 
stantly commanded  him  to  throw  away  his  wea- 
pon of  torture.  A  moment  later,  she  noticed 
blood  trickling  down  the  bullock's  tail  and,  watch- 
ing closely,  she  saw  the  driver  bend  his  head  and 

109 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

deliberately  bite  with  his  own  teeth  the  beast's 
tail  until  it  bled  afresh. 

Notwithstanding  my  constant  horseback  rid- 
ing, I  was  thrown  one  day  and  at  the  same  time 
had  a  snake  adventure.  It  was  on  one  of  my 
visits  to  a  far  village.  My  pony  was  forcing  his 
way  through  a  dense  undergrowth  in  the  forest, 
when  I  heard  a  rustle,  and  an  immense  python 
wriggled  from  the  bush  straight  for  my  horse's 
legs.  The  pony  trembled  violently.  Realizing 
what  would  happen,  and  remembering  an  old  bi- 
cycle trick  of  relaxing  and  letting  myself  fall 
easily,  I  dropped  to  the  bushes  just  as  the  pony 
reared  and  jumped  sidewise  into  a  roadside  pond 
of  muddy  water.  The  snake  was  so  long  that  I 
nearly  fell  on  its  tail ;  but  we  all  escaped  unhurt 
— horse,  snake,  and  woman.  My  hearty  laugh 
as  the  ashen- faced  syce  helped  me  to  my  feet 
brought  back  the  blood  to  his  cheek,  and  without 
further  adventure  we  proceeded  on  our  way. 


XVIII 
THE   JAHTRA 

IF  obstacles  cause  one  to  appreciate  the  goal, 
then  surely  we  should  have  enjoyed  the  Jah- 
tra.  The  Jahtra  is  a  sort  of  Hindu  county 
fair,  where  once  a  year  the  Hindus  by  thousands 
meet  in  a  certain  place  and  beseech  the  gods  to 
give  them  children,  or  they  make  sacrifices  as 
thank-offerings  for  children  already  granted. 

Rising  before  dawn,  we  piled  ourselves  and  a 
good  supply  of  medicine  into  the  bandies  and 
started  off.  Now,  one  may  cross  the  Manjery 
River  only  by  boat  or  by  way  of  the  new  dam 
built  in  connection  with  the  Manjery  Irrigation 
Project,  which  has  proved  an  immeasurable 
blessing  to  the  Medak  District.  This  dam 
stretches  from  shore  to  shore,  a  mile  of  mud- 
covered,  slippery  stones  forming  a  path  some 
four  feet  wide,  with  water  two  or  three  inches 
deep  dashing  swiftly  over  it  to  a  bed  of  boulders 
twenty  feet  below.  You  may  imagine  our  proces- 
sion: Miss  Tombleson,  Miss  Wigfield  and  I  in 
front,  barefooted,  with  now  and  then  a  slip,  a 
cry,  and  a  regaining  of  our  balance;  the  nurses 

III 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

and  servants  with  luggage  on  their  heads  follow- 
ing; poor  old  Abbishakamma  gray  with  fright, 
shrinking  between  two  men  and  holding  desper- 
ately to  their  arms ;  and  before  us  and  behind  us 
a  long  unbroken  line  of  Indians  in  gay  holiday 
attire. 

At  the  scene  of  the  Jahtra  itself  not  a  tree  was 
in  sight,  but  boulders,  boulders,  boulders,  cover- 
ing the  hills  and  causing  us  to  make  our  way 
along  the  paths  by  jumping  from  rock  to  rock. 

The  smell  of  roasting  flesh  greeted  us  as  we 
came  upon  a  Hindu  family  who,  with  the  help  of 
two  or  three  priests,  were  offering  up  a  sheep  in 
thanks  for  a  chubby  infant  who  rolled  on  the 
ground  at  his  mother's  feet.  The  sheep's  head 
was  roasting  on  the  fire  beside  a  black  pot  all 
marked  with  streaks  of  red  and  green  and  yellow 
and  decorated  with  flowers,  this  pot  holding  the 
rice  which  would  be  eaten  a  little  later  at  the 
feast.  The  father,  who  was  skinning  the  sheep's 
body,  was  delighted  to  tell  us  all  about  the  mat- 
ter; how  last  year  he  had  come  to  this  place  to 
pray  for  a  boy  and  how  this  year  he  had  brought 
the  boy  himself. 

Almost  immediately  we  came  upon  another 
scene  still  more  impressive.  In  a  little  hollow  of 
the  rocks  over  a  dirty  pool  of  water  presided  a 
coarse-faced,  outcaste  priest.     Whoever  should 

112 


THE   JAHTRA 

bathe  in  this  water  and  receive  his  blessing  would 
be  granted  a  child.  And  here  they  came,  low 
caste  and  high,  the  eager  faith  of  the  high  caste 
women  causing  them  to  forget,  in  their  longing 
for  domestic  happiness,  that  the  touch  of  the 
priest  was  defilement.  They  poured  the  filthy 
water  over  their  bodies,  and  an  old  hag  helped  the 
priest  to  empty  bowl  after  bowl  of  the  water  upon 
their  heads.  On  the  surface  of  the  pool  they 
placed  flowers  and  the  sacred  tulsi  plant;  they 
marked  the  rocky  sides  of  the  pool  with  red  and 
yellow,  rubbed  the  yellow  dye  well  into  their  own 
faces  and  hands,  and  the  priest  solemnly  placed 
a  red  mark  upon  their  foreheads.  Then,  shiver- 
ing and  dripping,  they  walked  several  times 
around  the  pool,  placed  a  few  pice  in  the  hand  of 
the  priest,  and  departed  for  a  continuation  of  the 
ceremony  elsewhere.  Following  them,  we  came 
to  a  cave  in  the  rocks  where  the  priests  had 
erected  an  "altar,"  and  here  the  women  received 
a  garland  and  another  blessing  and  went  away 
hopeful.  As  we  watched.  Miss  Wigfield's  right- 
eous indignation  burst  forth : 

"Why  do  you  deceive  these  poor  women  so? 
The  great,  true  God  alone  can  give  them  chil- 
dren." 

And  it  rather  took  us  aback  when  the  priest  re- 
plied— the  women  listening  to  every  word: 

113 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

"Of  course,  this  is  all  of  no  use.  We  know 
the  gods  will  not  grant  children  because  of  this. 
We  do  it  to  fill  our  stomachs.  It  is  but  a  few 
pice  and  the  women  wish  to  pay  it." 

And  still,  with  his  words  in  their  ears,  they 
allowed  him  to  place  the  garlands  about  their 
necks  and  gladly  put  their  pice  into  his  hand. 

All  day  long  there  were  new  scenes  and  fresh 
excitement ;  the  bazaars  were  bright  with  cloths, 
foodstuffs,  cheap  jewelry  and  toys.  A  purple 
horse  of  most  astounding  anatomy  inspired  us 
to  the  paraphrase. 

We  never  saw  a  purple  horse ; 

We  never  want  to  see  one ; 

But  this  we'll  tell  you  that,  of  course, 

We'd  rather  see  than  be  one. 

Performing  bears  and  monkeys  were  put 
through  their  tricks ;  beggars  showed  their  loath- 
some deformities;  vile  intoxicants  were  sold  at 
every  turn ;  young  women  and  boys  and  hideous 
old  witches  wildly  danced  and  shrieked,  then 
trembling  violently  sank  to  the  ground  in  a  re- 
ligious ''trance." 

What  seemed  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  the 
chief  feature  of  the  fair  was  a  procession  of  some 
twenty  bandies,  filled  with  laughing  youths,  each 
handy  gay  with  paint  and  paper  and  tinsel,  and 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  bullocks  decked  out  with 

114 


THE   JAHTRA 

bright  streamers.  All  the  long  afternoon  the 
bandies  twined  in  and  out  among  the  rocks  with 
never  a  pause,  and  always  where  they  went  the 
crowd  was  thickest. 

Just  back  of  our  tent  whirled  and  danced  and 
chanted  a  low-browed  fakir,  nude  but  for  a  loin 
cloth,  and  with  his  hair  hanging  below  his  knees, 
each  separate  strand  so  matted  with  dirt  and 
grease  that  it  might  have  been  a  leathern  thong. 
A  mother  brought  her  baby  to  be  blessed  and 
the  fakir  paused  long  enough  in  his  violent  exer- 
cises to  pass  a  strand  of  his  hair  over  the  baby's 
face,  to  mutter  a  few  words  of  blessing  and  re- 
ceive his  pay ;  and  then  continued  in  his  untiring 
evolutions. 

We  were  delighted  to  see  at  the  Jahtra  many 
old  friends.  Every  little  while,  as  we  passed 
along  on  our  sightseeing  expedition,  somebody 
would  dash  from  the  crowd  and  throw  himself  at 
our  feet  or  upon  our  shoulders,  and  we  would 
recognize  a  grateful  patient  or  an  equally  grate- 
ful relative  of  a  patient. 

In  the  afternoon  we  dispensed  medicines  in  the 
tent  and  though  but  few  came  to  us,  those  few 
seemed  impressed  with  Abbishakamma's  story, 
told  as  only  Abbishakamma  can  tell  it,  of  heart- 
broken, childless  Hannah  and  the  little  God-given 
Samuel. 

115 


XIX 

RICE    CHRISTIANS 

FREQUENTLY  in  magazines  and  newspa- 
pers appear  sarcastic  comments  on  foreign 
mission  work,  which  intimate  that  the  con- 
verts to  Christianity  are  merely  ''rice  Christians," 
that  is,   men   who  accept  Christianity   for   the 
worldly  benefit  they  receive  by  so  doing. 

I  admit  that  many  of  our  converts  began  as 
*'rice  Christians,"  but  the  nature  of  the  Hindu  is 
all  conservatism.  When  he  has,  for  any  reason, 
left  a  beaten  path  in  life,  the  new  path  he  has 
chosen  soon  becomes  as  dear  to  his  nature  as  was 
the  old,  and  it  would  require  as  enormous  an  ef- 
fort to  force  him  from  it.  From  a  "rice  Chris- 
tian" he  becomes  as  true  a  follower  of  Christ  as 
the  majority  of  Westerners  reared  in  the  faith. 
Rajannah,  a  high-caste  Hindu  without  near 
relatives,  had  been  deserted  because  of  his  help- 
lessness due  to  complete  cataract  of  both  eyes. 
When  he  came  a  beggar  to  the  compound,  Dr. 
Watts,  to  whose  position  at  Medak  I  succeeded, 
operated  on  his  eyes  and  restored  to  him  partial 

ii6 


RICE    CHRISTIANS 

sight.  Deeply  grateful,  he  professed  Christian- 
ity, and  both  Dr.  Watts  and  Miss  Wigfield  took 
a  warm  interest  in  his  spiritual  development, 
which  seemed  very  rapid.  When  the  time  came 
for  him  to  be  baptized,  the  ladies  assured  Mr. 
Posnett  that  Rajannah  was  very  intelligent  and 
understood  perfectly  what  baptism  meant.  As 
the  old  man  stood  in  church  before  the  whole 
congregation,  Mr.  Posnett  questioned  him  as  he 
questions  all  converts: 

"Rajannah,  why  have  you  become  a  Chris- 
tian?" 

"What  could  I  do?"  answered  Rajannah.  "I 
had  no  rice  to  fill  my  stomach,  and  I  knew  you 
would  give  me  rice  and  work." 

Months  later  he  was  able  to  pass  more  suc- 
cessfully an  examination  for  baptism,  and  when 
he  was  too  old  and  weak  to  do  more  than  pull 
the  punkah,  we  could  daily  hear  his  cracked  voice 
singing  hymns  in  tunes  quite  original,  or  preach- 
ing Christianity  to  the  dhirzi,  a  high-caste  Hindu 
who  used  to  sit  on  our  front  veranda  with  his 
little  hand-power  sewing  machine,  and  sew  for 
us  all  day. 

So  Rajannah  lived  up  to  his  light  and,  dying, 
told  those  who  were  with  him  that  he  should 
wake  "in  the  Light  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

Bordena    Venkaiah    shows    another    type    of 

117 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Christian.  Venkaiah  had  been  notorious 
throughout  the  whole  district  for  his  brutality. 
He  had  beaten  one  wife  to  death  and  had 
drowned  another  in  a  well.  Then  he  heard  the 
teachings  of  Christianity,  became  converted,  and 
was  baptized.  He  asked  us  for  one  of  our  school- 
girls for  a  wife,  but  we  feared  to  give  her  to  him, 
thinking  the  old,  evil  temper  might  break  out 
again.  The  girl  herself,  however,  begged  us  to 
let  her  marry  him,  saying  she  trusted  him.  So 
we  consented  to  the  union  and  it  proved  a  very 
happy  one.  Venkaiah  was  devoted  to  his  girl 
wife,  and  his  one  wish  was  for  a  son  to  crown 
his  joy.  A  daughter  came  and  another,  but  no 
son.  Through  it  all,  Venkaiah  remained  patient 
and  loving  to  his  wife  and  little  daughters,  but 
his  daily  prayer  was  for  a  boy.  Then  the  boy 
came.  They  named  him  Gabriel,  and  his  father 
worshiped  him.  When  the  little  son  was  bap- 
tized, Venkaiah  adorned  a  young  buffalo  with 
garlands  of  flowers  and,  as  a  gift  of  gratitude, 
proudly  led  it  up  the  aisle  of  the  chapel  to  the 
altar. 

Gabriel  was  about  ten  months  old  and  very 
bonny,  when  his  father  came  to  our  hospital  and 
said:  "I  am  called  to  the  city  and  have  left  my 
wife  and  children  alone  in  our  village.     If  any- 

ii8 


RICE   CHRISTIANS 

thing  should  happen  to  them,  you  will  do  what 
you  can?    They  are  my  life!" 

Scarcely  two  hours  after  his  departure,  the 
young  wife  came  running  with  little  Gabriel  in 
her  arms.  He  was  in  violent  convulsions  and 
just  as  she  entered  the  hospital  doors  he  died. 

When  Venkaiah  learned  the  sad  news,  he  was 
like  a  maniac,  but,  in  all  his  raving,  he  never  for- 
got that  he  was  a  son  of  God: 

"O  God,  my  Father,  why  have  you  slain  my 
heart?    O  Gabriel,  Gabriel!" 

And  so  over  and  over  again. 

Several  months  later,  when  one  of  our  mission- 
aries passed  the  cemetery,  she  saw  Venkaiah  ly- 
ing face  downward  on  Baby  Gabriel's  grave,  cry- 
ing mournfully,  "O  Gabriel,  my  son,  my  son !" 

Then  another  son  came  to  him.  When  this 
child  was  born  the  young  mother  was  alone  in 
a  distant  village  far  from  medical  help,  and,  in 
giving  life  to  the  boy,  lost  her  own.  Venkaiah 
felt  his  wife's  death  keenly,  but  struggled  on, 
fathering  and  mothering  his  little  boy  and  girls. 
But  the  boy  was  always  delicate  and  sickly  and 
when  one  day  Venkaiah  brought  him  to  our  hos- 
pital the  shadow  of  death  already  hovered  over 
the  sharpened  features.  After  a  few  hours'  lin- 
gering the  baby  died.  As  Venkaiah  gazed  on  his 
dead  child,  his  face  was  gray  and  drawn  with  his 

119 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

soul's  agony,  but  this  time  there  was  no  wild  out- 
burst of  grief.    Folding  his  arms,  he  said  quietly : 

"Now,  all  I  have  are  in  heaven  but  I  am  old 
and  ready  to  go  and  I  am  glad  they  are  all  there 
waiting  for  me."  Then,  kneeling  by  the  bedside, 
he  prayed:  "Now,  O  Lord,  my  Father,  Thou 
hast  all  my  treasures.  Come  again  quickly  and 
take  me  also  to  Thyself!" 

Our  old  Kedari  vies  with  Bordena  Venkaiah 
in  the  manly  strength  of  his  Christianity.  A  high 
official  of  his  village,  father  of  five  grown  sons, 
and  owner  of  many  fields,  Kedari  became  con- 
verted to  Christianity  and  sacrificed  for  his  be- 
lief his  family,  his  property,  his  all.  His  own 
sons  cursed  and  stoned  him  in  the  village  streets ; 
but,  by  patient  endeavor,  he  at  last  won  all  his 
family  to  Christ,  and  every  month  thereafter 
Kedari,  as  his  sons  knelt  beside  him  at  the  com- 
munion-rail, would  smile  proudly  as  he  looked  at 
them  and  then  at  his  silver  finger-ring  which 
bore  the  Telugu  inscription,  "An  elder  in  the 
Church  of  Christ!" 


XX 

GOD'S   OUT-OF-DOORS 

A  CERTAIN  queen  in  a  castle  was  in 
trouble.  This  sounds  like  the  beginning 
of  a  fairy  tale,  but  it  is  a  plain  twenti- 
eth century  fact,  and  the  romance  is  somewhat 
modified  by  adding  that  the  queen  is  an  ancient 
dowager,  mother  of  the  late  rajah,  and  the  trou- 
ble was  merely  cataracts  which  she  wished  re- 
moved. 

As  the  patient  could  not  come  to  us  and  as 
there  were  no  cases  in  hospital  which  we  could 
not  safely  leave,  Miss  Posnett,  Miss  Harris  and 
I  started  out  to  perform  the  operation  at  the 
queen's  own  castle  in  the  village  of  Parpanapett 
on  the  outskirts  of  our  district.  We  decided  to 
make  a  regular  medical  tour,  visiting  Parpana- 
pett in  the  natural  order  of  the  route. 

Departing  from  the  compound  in  the  bullock 
tonga,  we  passed  the  potter  just  outside  our  gates 
squatting  before  his  wheel  which  he  swiftly 
turned,  shaping  with  deft  hands  the  clay  pot  be- 
fore him.   This  scene  brought  to  my  mind,  as  it 

J2I 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

always  did  when  I  reflected  on  the  souls  of  my 
dear  Indian  heathen,  those  comforting  lines  of 
Omar  Khayyam's  "Rubaiyat" : 

Some  there  are  who  tell 

Of  one  who  threatens  he  will  toss  to  Hell 

The  luckless  pots  he  marr'd  in  making — Pish! 

He's  a  good  fellow  and  'twill  all  be  well. 

Two  minutes  later,  we  came  to  the  massive 
gate  in  the  old  town  wall  of  Medak  and  drove 
into  the  village,  a  typical  village  of  India.  The 
long,  winding  main  street  was  lined  with  two 
rows  of  mud  huts  and  crossed  by  narrow  alleys, 
the  uncovered  sewage  draining  through  street 
and  alley.  Brown  monkeys  jumped  from  house 
to  house,  the  longest  leap  of  a  mother  monkey 
disturbing  not  at  all  the  baby  clutching  at  her 
breast;  and  in  the  bazaar  children,  ponies,  cows, 
buffaloes,  donkeys,  sheep,  goats,  dogs,  cats,  and 
hens  commingled. 

It  was  market-day  and  the  merchants  of  the 
bazaar  had  spread  their  wares  so  far  toward  the 
middle  of  the  street  on  both  sides  that  only 
skilled  guidance  of  the  bullocks  saved  the  care- 
less vendors  from  ruin.  Here  and  there  a 
friend  greeted  us  with  a  salaam;  and  gradually 
we  wended  our  way  around  the  hill  with  its  old 
fort  and  temple  and  past  the  mosque  where  every 
morning  at  sunrise  the  Mahomedan  priest  cries 

122 


GOD'S  OUT-OF-DOORS 

from  the  minaret  his  "Allah-il- Allah!" — "God  is 
God  and  Mahomet  is  his  prophet!  Come  to 
prayer!  Come  to  prayer!  Come  to  prayer! 
Prayer  is  better  than  sleep !" 

Then,  out  into  the  open  country! 

Far  and  wide  extended  plantations  of  cocoa- 
nut  palms  with  an  earthern  vessel  fastened  to 
each  to  catch  the  juice  which,  when  fermented, 
serves  as  toddy,  the  Indian  beer.  A  lithe,  brown 
coolie  was  taking  down  the  filled  vessels.  To 
climb  a  tree,  he  leaned  back  against  a  rope  fast- 
ened about  his  waist  and  the  tree  and  rapidly 
worked  his  way  up  by  means  of  his  toes  and 
knees. 

In  an  adjoining  field,  swinging  their  trunks 
and  lazily  munching  their  hay,  were  Dadu  Bad- 
sha's  two  tame  elephants. 

Beyond  were  castor-bean  and  mustard  fields. 

In  front  of  their  ancestral  tombs,  in  the  old 
Mahomedan  burial  ground,  several  Mahomedans 
prayed. 

Here  and  there  we  saw  the  nest  of  the  weaver 
bird  swinging  from  a  lofty  branch.  These  nests 
are  cleverly  built  and  seem  designed  to  protect 
the  birds  from  snakes  and  other  foes.  A  closely 
woven  pyramid  about  a  foot  in  length  and  de- 
pending by  its  apex  from  a  branch  swings  loosely 
in  the  air.    One  side  of  the  base  forms  a  pouch 

123 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

where  the  bird  may  hatch  her  eggs,  and  the  other 
side  is  lengthened  into  a  cylinder  leading  from 
space  into  the  nest,  thus  forming  an  opening 
which  could  be  entered  only  by  a  winged  creature 
of  small  size. 

There  were  the  usual  fine  old  trees  and  the 
great  heaps  of  boulders  so  common  throughout 
this  part  of  India;  and  always  the  green  rice- 
fields,  the  white  water-lilies,  and  the  pink  lotus 
flowers.  We  passed  two  or  three  droves  of 
sturdy  donkeys  heavily  laden;  flocks  of  sheep  and 
goats;  springless  wooden  carts  with  their  two 
rough  wheels,  each  wheel  a  cross  section  of  a 
tree  trunk.  Then  we  came  to  a  lake  of  muddy 
water  with  the  cattle  rushing  forward  for  a 
drink,  and  bufifalo  wallowing  deep  in  the  mire. 
A  diver  bird  ran  across  our  path;  a  ruined 
Hindu  temple,  relic  of  a  thousand  years  ago,  came 
to  view;  and,  farther  on,  two  or  three  bird 
scarers  snug  in  their  thatched  towers  carried  out 
their  unique,  cobweb  system.  A  rough  straw 
shelter  is  built  on  a  wooden  platform  raised  high 
above  the  ground  on  four  stout  poles,  smoothly 
polished  to  prevent  snakes  from  climbing  them. 
From  this  perch  ropes  extend  in  every  direction, 
cobweb  style,  over  the  fields.  Night  and  day  a 
boy  or  girl  sits  on  the  perch  to  frighten  away  the 
thieving  birds  and  beasts.    In  the  daytime  when 

J  24 


GOD'S   OUT-OF-DOORS 

birds  only  are  the  thieves,  the  child  frightens 
them  off  by  twitching  the  rope,  and  at  night  the 
little  guardian  of  the  hard-earned  food  shouts 
every  now  and  then  to  keep  the  wild  beasts  away. 

But  we  were  on  the  road. 

A  chubby  beggar  boy  ran  behind  the  tonga 
slapping  vigorously  a  well-rounded  stomach,  evi- 
dently trying  to  make  us  believe  appearances  de- 
ceitful. 

A  boy  goatherd  seated  on  a  grassy  knoll  played 
on  his  pipe  of  reeds  while  he  kept  his  goat  from 
straying  by  clasping  one  of  her  hind  feet  firmly 
between  the  first  and  second  toes  of  his  right 
foot. 

Down  a  steep  incline  our  bullocks  scumbled 
into  the  sandy  bed  of  a  river  wh^th  in  rainy 
weather  is  the  largest  river  in  \his  section  of 
the  country.  Toddy  shops,  todiiy  shops  every- 
where !  These  are  merely  narrow  roofs  of  thatch 
held  up  by  poles  and  protecting  the  earthen  pots 
of  toddy  and  their  keepers  from  the  sun. 

A  car  of  Juggernaut — a  Hindu  temple  on 
wheels — stood  under  its  cover  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  Years  ago,  the  Juggernaut  cars  used  to 
play  an  earnest  and  terrible  part  in  the  religious 
life  of  Hindus  throughout  India.  Frequently 
during  a  procession  some  fanatic  would  throw 
himself   beneath   the  wheels   of   a   car   and   be 

125 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

crushed  to  death.  Though  the  cars  still  make 
occasional  journeys,  the  English  Government  has 
forbidden  the  destruction  of  life,  so  the  ceremony 
has  lost  to  the  Indian  mind  its  chief  attraction. 

Farther  on  was  a  queer  little  stone  monkey 
god,  Hanamanthadu. 

At  Tardur,  our  first  stopping  place,  the  story 
had  gone  about  that  we  had  put  a  special  drug 
in  all  the  medicines  to  make  those  that  should 
drink  turn  Christian,  so  only  a  few  patients,  and 
those  timidly  suspicious,  came  to  us.  We  were, 
therefore,  surprised  when  an  old  woman,  her 
dark  face  all  smiles  and  her  tongue  going  at  the 
rate  of  three  hundred  words  a  minute,  rushed 
into  the  tent,  and  evidently  overcome  with  joy 
or  gratitude  threw  herself  at  our  feet.  By  tact- 
ful questioning  we  learned  that  she  was  the 
mother  of  a  Medak  hospital  patient  whom  a  year 
previously  we  had  cured  of  a  serious  illness. 

"Where  is  your  daughter?"  we  asked. 

"She  is  coming  but  she  is  young  and  afraid. 
I  will  fetch  her."  So  saying,  the  woman  de- 
parted. An  hour  or  two  later  she  reappeared 
with  the  daughter,  who  shyly  salaamed. 

"I  have  brought  her,"  said  the  mother  trium- 
phantly, "that  she  may  kiss  your  feet.  I  have 
abused  her  all  day  that  she  has  not  come  before. 

126 


GOD'S  OUT-OF-DOORS 

Why  are  you  afraid  of  the  kind  white  ladies?" 
turning  to  the  girl  angrily. 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  replied  the  girl.  "Why 
should  I  be  afraid?  Was  I  not  in  their  hospital 
and  did  they  not  sit  beside  me  and  smile  and  hold 
my  hand?  No,  I  am  not  afraid,"  and,  with  eyes 
bulging  from  their  sockets  with  terror,  she 
dashed  wildly  through  the  tent  door  and  away! 

When  an  aged  man  started  to  drink  the  medi- 
cine we  had  given  him,  his  equally  aged  spouse 
hastily  turned  his  head  toward  a  little  stone  god- 
dess near  by  with  the  indignant  remark,  *'How 
can  you  expect  to  be  cured  unless  you  turn  your 
face  toward  the  devil  Poshamma  and  make  sa- 
laams?"  Miss  Posnett,  however,  immediately 
took  the  medicine  from  him. 

**No,"  she  said,  ''this  medicine  is  the  gift  of 
Jesu  Christu.  You  must  make  salaams  to  no 
other  god  while  drinking  it." 

The  old  man  begged  the  medicine  back  and, 
gazing  in  terrified  perplexity  now  at  his  wife  and 
now  at  Miss  Posnett,  hastily  gulped  it  down. 

While  in  Tardur,  we  examined  our  Christian 
school,  composed  of  a  dozen  tots,  true  village 
children,  who  stood  in  a  neat  row  and  answered 
bravely — all  but  one.  She,  a  girl  of  four  years, 
seemed  very  bashful,  restless  and  ill  at  ease,  con- 
stantly getting  out  of  line  and  hiding  behind  her 

127 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

elder  sister,  a  sedate  motherly  child  of  seven,  who 
as  constantly  pulled  her  back.  Suddenly,  in  one 
of  her  dives  behind  her  sister,  the  baby  divested 
herself  of  her  one  garment,  a  diminutive  red  sari, 
and  stood  forth  quite  naked  and  smiling  serenely, 
her  self-consciousness  completely  gone  with  her 
unaccustomed  garb.  All  of  us  except  the  sister 
of  the  youthful  Eve  laughed  heartily.  She — poor 
child! — shocked  to  the  core  of  her  being,  hastily 
retreated  with  the  culprit,  who  soon  reappeared 
with  the  offending  garment  once  more  draped 
about  her  plump  figure. 

Another  move  and  we  came  to  the  village  of 
Parpanapett,  where  our  blind  queen  awaited  us. 
There  are,  I  feel  sure,  few  villages  in  India  love- 
lier than  Parpanapett.  It  lies  near  a  wide  blue 
lake  with  rocky  banks,  the  stone  towers  and  high 
walls  of  the  palace  fortress  and  the  rajah's  gar- 
den, a  paradise  of  bloom,  forming  a  picturesque 
background. 

When  we  called  on  Her  Highness  she  gra- 
ciously invited  us  to  inspect  the  palace  and,  as 
her  blindness  prevented  her  from  accompanying 
us,  she  sent  one  of  her  adopted  sons  instead.  It 
was  beautiful  to  see  the  reverence  of  these  tall 
men  for  the  frail  old  lady  who  has  adopted  them 
to  fill,  in  some  measure,  the  place  of  her  dead 
son.    Since  the  Rajah's  death  the  palace  has  been 

128 


GOD'S  OUT-OF-DOORS 

given  over  to  bats  and  other  vermin.  Only  the 
zenana  portion  is  inhabited,  and  we  wandered 
through  one  desolate  room  after  another;  saw 
the  exquisitely  carved  but  worm-eaten  chairs  and 
tables,  bed  frames,  and  even  an  English  bookcase ; 
groped  our  way  up  the  narrow  stone  staircases; 
smashed  our  topees  in  the  low  doorways,  and 
finally  emerged  into  the  tower,  where  we  had  an 
extensive  view  of  the  country. 

After  the  Parpanapett  Rajah  had  died  a  cat- 
tle plague  descended  upon  the  village.  You  may 
not  see  the  connection,  but  the  villagers  of  Par- 
panapett saw  it  clearly  enough  and,  dressing  up 
a  dummy  to  represent  the  dead  Rajah,  they  daily 
sacrificed  large  numbers  of  sheep  and  goats  be- 
fore him  to  satisfy  his  angry  spirit. 

Our  superintendent  had  joined  us  and  in  the 
evening  after  the  medical  day  was  over  a  re- 
ligious meeting  was  held. 

Some  years  before,  our  evangelist  who  had 
tried  to  preach  Christianity  in  this  village  had 
been  cruelly  persecuted  but  by  patience  and  cour- 
age had  won  the  day  and  now  his  persecutors  had 
come  to  be  baptized.  It  was  one  of  the  most  sol- 
emn and  touching  ceremonies  I  had  ever  wit- 
nessed. 

The  gray-haired  men,  gathered  courageously 
together,  asked  earnestly  and  intelligently  about 

.129 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

their  duties  as  Christians,  and  listened  carefully 
while  Mr.  Posnett  explained  to  them  how  serious 
was  the  step  they  were  taking. 

*'We  are  brothers  in  Christ,"  impressively  said 
their  chief,  the  erstwhile  leader  of  the  persecu- 
tion. "If  we  stand  side  by  side  and  help  each 
other  to  be  strong,  how  can  hatred  or  persecu- 
tion matter  to  us  ?" 

*'And  you  must  try  to  bring  your  children  to 
the  feet  of  Christ,"  said  Mr.  Posnett. 

"Ha!"  smiled  one  old  man,  "if  the  father  be  a 
Christian  will  the  son  dare  be  aught  else?" 

The  Lombardies,  who  had  their  camp  near 
ours,  were  a  source  of  never-failing  interest  to 
us,  a  multiplicity  of  pariah  dogs  helping  them  to 
keep  up  one  continuous  performance  in  motion 
and  commotion. 

Young  Lombardies  are  usually  handsome  and 
well  developed.  The  dress  of  the  women  is  com- 
posed of  bits  of  cloth  of  every  variety  of  color, 
sewed  together  after  the  manner  and  with  the 
effect  of  a  "crazy  quilt,"  pieces  of  looking-glass 
and  mica  glistening  from  every  part  of  their 
dress,  while  their  large,  coarse  ornaments  of  iron, 
brass,  bone,  wood  and  precious  metal  make  their 
every  movement  a  loud  jingling  clank.  Lom- 
bardy  girls  must  have  completed  their  entire  cos- 
tume— no  easy  task — before  they  are  married, 

130 


GOD'S  OUT-OF-DOORS 

and,  if  you  have  ever  seen  the  costume,  you  can- 
not wonder  that  they  rarely  attempt  a  second. 
The  rags  and  tatters  to  which  a  dress  is  reduced 
as  its  wearer  approaches  middle  life  merely  add 
to  the  attractiveness. 

The  gypsy  folk  are  as  shy  as  wood  birds.  Only 
death  staring  them  directly  in  the  face  would 
coax  them  within  the  doors  of  a  hospital.  If 
they  wish  our  medical  treatment  they  make  their 
home  under  a  near-by  tree,  while  we  visit  them 
there  and  minister  to  their  needs.  They  are  an 
industrious  people.  You  never  see  a  Lombardy 
sitting  in  the  sun  with  listless  hands,  stopping  to 
gossip  for  an  hour  at  a  village  door,  or  begging 
for  help.  The  tall,  full  figures  are  alive  with  en- 
ergy and  independence.  As  a  Lombardy  woman 
walks  through  the  streets,  a  great  bundle  of 
sticks  is  on  her  head  and  in  her  hands  is  sewing 
work  on  which  she  is  busily  engaged.  It  is  not 
surprising,  then,  that  the  Lombardies  are  rarely 
poor.  Almost  every  family  owns  large  herds  of 
cattle. 

Each  year  on  one  of  their  feast  days,  the 
Lombardy  women  come  around  to  the  bungalows 
and  dance  the  famous  "Lombardy  dance,"  rising, 
bowing,  bending  sidewise  and  backward,  squat- 
ting, swaying,  all  with  admirable  grace  and 
rhythm;   wizened,   gray-haired   women   joining 

131 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

hands  with  handsome  young  girls  and  round- 
Hmbed  children. 

At  bedtime  every  night  on  this  tour  to  Par- 
panapett  we  had  our  cots  pulled  out  under  the 
trees  and,  as  we  sank  to  sleep,  we  drowsily 
watched  the  glare  of  the  camp  fire  on  the  dark, 
faces  surrounding  it,  for  in  the  evening  half  the 
village  comes  to  gossip  with  our  people. 

So,  picknicking  outdoors  for  all  our  meals, 
and  sleeping  under  the  trees,  with  the  Southern 
Cross  blinking  at  us  from  the  horizon,  we  trav- 
eled slowly  homeward. 

As  we  neared  Medak,  we  passed  the  Indian 
mail-carrier.  Resting  on  his  shoulder  was  a 
strong,  pointed  stick  on  which  his  bag  of  mail 
was  slung;  at  the  end  of  the  stick  a  cluster  of 
little  bells  jingled  musically  as  he  trotted  along  at 
a  swift,  steady  pace,  while  immediately  behind 
him  at  the  same  pace  ran  his  guard  with  drawn 
sword  in  hand. 


XXI 

OFF   TO    KASHMIR 

THE  famed  Vale  of  Kashmir  was  our  goal 
one  year  for  the  May  rest,  and  the  five 
Endish  ladies  and  I  went  there  together. 
At  one  of  the  stations  where  we  made  a  long 
stop  we  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  the  details 
of  a  Mahomedan  prayer.  The  bearded  old  man 
spread  his  rug  before  him,  and,  facing  Mecca, 
began,  in  the  light  of  the  dying  sun,  his  prayer 
to  Allah.  He  touched  his  face  rapidly  here  and 
there,  now  in  front  of  the  ears,  now  behind  them ; 
placed  his  clasped  hands  together;  made  a  low 
obeisance,  touching  his  forehead  to  the  ground 
several  times ;  stood  or  sat  with  hands  on  knees 
in  the  attitude  of  meditation ;  and  so  on  through 
the  whole  time.  Somebody  came  up  and  con- 
versed with  him;  but  the  interruption  seemed  a 
matter  of  small  moment.  After  a  leisurely  chat, 
he  continued  his  prayer  as  before.  Then  he 
rolled  up  his  rug,  tucked  it  under  his  arm,  and 
walked  slowly  away.  Noticing  the  time,  I  found 
that  the  prayer  itself,  not  counting  the  interrup- 
tions, had  taken  just  nine  minutes. 

133 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Three  or  four  alligators  sprawled  on  a  sandy- 
island  in  the  almost  dry  river  bed  beneath  the 
bridge  over  which  our  train  passed. 

A  herd  of  wild  deer  gazed  innocently  at  us 
from  a  wood  near  the  track,  then  turned  and 
bounded  swiftly  into  the  brush. 

Grazing  peacefully  in  a  green  field  by  the 
track  was  a  herd  of  the  small,  hump-shouldered 
Indian  cattle,  with  deer-like  faces,  resembling 
our  Jerseys  at  home;  the  picturesque  boy  cow- 
herd in  loin-cloth  and  turban  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand  as  he  gazed  at  the  passing  train. 

In  purple  pajamas  and  red  chuddah,  an  el- 
derly woman  bent  low  over  something  she  was 
gathering  in  a  near-by  field.  She  did  not  look  up 
as  the  train  passed.  The  signs  of  the  times  were 
naught  to  her! 

A  young  woman,  clad  in  nothing  but  a  loose 
red  cloth  fastened  about  her  loins,  balanced  on 
her  head  the  family  water  jar,  her  slim  body 
swaying  gracefully  as  she  walked  swiftly  across 
the  fields. 

A  jackal  trotted  leisurely  over  the  plain, 
turned  to  look  at  the  train  rushing  toward  him, 
and  scampered  away  with  curious,  sidewise  leaps. 

Up  and  down  one  of  the  platforms  walked  a 
group  of  Parsees.  The  gentleman  of  the  party, 
in  English  dress  except  for  his  black,  scuttle  hat, 

134 


HHl 

■ 

^^M 

I^^^M 

^ 

H 

w^f^p^^.  '^^^^^BmPpP-^I^P^^'^^ 

i 

^H^ 

^■■•^^^^^^^ 

IS 

HiHi^K^....j 

^^^^^ '-^l^^iM^ 

el^fi 

Swing  bridge  of  Kashmir 


Snake  charmers  and  jugglers 


OFF   TO   KASHMIR 

led  by  the  hand  a  little  girl  whose  rich,  olive  com- 
plexion and  dark,  liquid  eyes,  and  the  green 
gauze  veil  draped  artistically  about  her  head  and 
shoulders,  seemed  altogether  out  of  keeping  with 
the  white  English  frock,  the  long,  white  panta- 
lettes and  the  black  shoes  and  stockings  which 
formed  the  rest  of  her  costume.  The  Parsee 
ladies  wore  soft  silk  saris  of  a  delicate  tint,  with 
narrow,  richly  embroidered  velvet  border.  The 
elder  woman  had  the  usual  white  cloth  bound 
tightly  about  her  head,  this  indicating  that  the 
wearer  was  married. 

A  herd  of  slate-gray,  sleepy-eyed  buffalo,  with 
horns  three  or  four  feet  long  standing  out  at 
right  angles  from  their  heads,  trailed  past. 

Then  we  were  in  the  Punjaub,  and  we  fre- 
quently saw  a  camel  on  the  maidan,  or  an  ele- 
phant trudging  ajong  the  road  with  slow,  ma- 
jestic tread. 

The  people  of  the  North,  whose  diet  is  wheat 
and  pulse  instead  of  rice,  showed  the  effect  of 
this  better  nourishment  and  of  their  colder, 
dryer  climate  in  their  fine  physique  and  pride 
of  carriage,  as  compared  with  our  people  on  the 
Southern  plains. 

Lahore,  Kim's  city !  And  there  were  little  Kims 
everywhere  about  the  streets.  Our  guide  showed 
us   the   points   of   interest,   among   them  Zam- 

135 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Zamniah,  Kim's  big  gun,  which  stood  close 
to  the  Museum.  We  pictured  little  Kim  hurling 
abuse  down  upon  his  playmates  from  the  top  of 
the  huge  cannon;  and  we  turned  to  the  Museum 
where  the  simple,  mild  old  Lama  found  a  sym- 
pathetic soul  in  the  keeper  of  the  "Wonder 
House" ;  but  the  doors  were  locked  and  our  train 
soon  due,  so  we  did  not  go  inside. 

The  last  railway  station  on  the  way  to  Kash- 
mir is  Rawal  Pindi,  and  from  there  you  have 
still  before  you  one  hundred  miles  of  mountain 
road  along  the  River  Jhelum  before  you  reach 
the  Valley,  rejoicing  in  a  temperate  climate  at 
the  height  of  fifty-five  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea. 

Arranging  for  our  baggage  to  follow  us,  we 
made  the  journey  over  the  mountains  in  carriages. 

After  two  years  on  the  hot  plains,  it  was  bliss 
to  draw  deep  into  the  lungs  the  cool,  life-giving 
air  of  the  pines;  to  see  the  white  clematis  and 
hawthorn,  the  pink  roses  and  sunny  buttercups 
on  every  hand,  the  shy  wild  strawberries  hiding 
their  crimson  among  the  grass  by  the  way,  and 
the  dainty  maidenhair  fern  covering  the  rocks 
in  a  lavish  expenditure  of  riches.  When  the 
delicate  fragrance  of  the  wood  violet  greeted 
our  nostrils,  we  were  tempted  from  our  car- 
riages for  a  short  rest  on  the  mossy  banks  be- 

136 


OFF   TO    KASHMIR 

side  the  road  where  the  blue  darlings  were  thickly 
scattered.  Suddenly  a  patch  of  snow  in  the 
brush  caught  our  eye,  and  we  promptly  indulged 
in  an  old-fashioned  snowball  fight.  It  was  great 
fun,  but  our  drivers  were  so  frightened  that 
their  teeth  chattered.  They  thought  we  were  in 
earnest,  and  begged  us  to  make  peace  with  each 
other,  until,  in  mercy  to  the  poor  fellows,  we 
gave  it  up,  and  our  laughter,  as  w^e  climbed  back 
into  the  carriages,  seemed  greatly  to  relieve  their 
minds. 

We  stopped  for  the  night  and  for  meals  at  the 
well-equipped  dak  bungalows  all  along  the  route, 
where  frequently  we  met  pleasant  fellow- 
travelers. 

For  four  days  we  traveled  through  that  mag- 
nificent mountain  scenery  where  Peramorz  won 
the  heart  of  his  Lalla  Rookh. 

Hundreds  of  feet  below  our  pathway  the 
Jhelum  River  brawled  and  tumbled.  Far  above 
us  the  snow  mountains  stood  out  against  the  sky 
hemming  us  in  on  every  side  until,  as  we  gazed 
at  them,  we  felt  chilled  and  awed  by  their  so- 
lemnity, but  the  golden  bird-songs  from  the 
meadow  told  us  of  warm,  throbbing  life,  and  we 
turned  again  to  the  flowers  and  the  butterflies. 

An  immense  drove  of  camels  coming  down 
from  the  Khyber  Pass  met  us  one  day.    Some  of 

137 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

the  camels  were  wee  babies  and  the  funniest, 
fuzziest  Httle  fellows  imaginable. 

There  also  met  us  a  party  of  big,  rough-look- 
ing Afghanese,  with  peaked  turbans  and  long 
coats,  and  several  groups  of  those  polyandrous 
mountain  people  in  whose  family  the  woman 
reigns  supreme,  like  a  queen  bee,  over  her  half- 
dozen  husbands. 

We  were  lunching  in  a  grove  on  the  way  when 
a  pack  of  great,  white  pariah  dogs  rushed  to- 
ward us.  Leaping,  growling,  fighting,  they  sav- 
agely snatched  the  bread  from  our  hands  and 
from  the  basket  beside  us.  We  did  not  argue 
the  point,  but  hastily  left  the  scene  and  the  rem- 
nants of  the  lunch. 

Toward  the  end  of  our  route,  the  long-haired 
Kashmir  goats  appeared,  balancing  on  sharp 
pinnacles  or  jumping  fearlessly  from  crag  to 
crag. 

On  the  mountains  along  the  way  we  frequently 
saw  signs  of  human  life,  bazaars  to  tempt  the 
traveler,  villages  with  the  ever-present  fort,  and 
old  mosques  and  temples  which  I  could  with 
pleasure  have  examined  more  closely. 

So  we  rode  on  until  the  mountain  pass  gave 
way  to  the  broad  and  verdant  plain,  and  we  left 
our  carriages  for  the  dlimiga  which  our  Srinagar 
hostess  had  sent  to  meet  us. 

138 


Kashmiri  women 


OFF   TO   KASHMIR 

A  dhiinga  is  a  large,  flat  boat  of  old  walnut 
wood  beautifully  hand  carved  in  all  sorts  of  in- 
tricate designs,  with  roof  and  sides  of  matting. 
Sometimes  the  boatman  and  his  family  put  them- 
selves into  harness  and  trudge  along  the  bank, 
dragging  the  dhunga  by  ropes;  sometimes  they 
all  get  inside  and  paddle  it  slowly  along  by  means 
of  a  peculiar  oar — a  long  handle  and  a  heart- 
shaped  blade. 

Within  the  dhunga  there  is  every  comfort  for 
the  traveler,  a  tiny  suite  of  rooms,  dining  room, 
bedroom,  dressing  room  and  bathroom,  and  an 
open  space  in  front  for  a  sitting  room.  Each 
of  these  rooms  is  shut  off  by  matting  curtains, 
and  back  of  all  the  boatman  and  his  family  live. 

This  was  our  first  view  of  the  natives  of  Kash- 
mir, people  who  well  deserve  their  reputation 
for  physical  beauty.  The  large,  well-knit  fig- 
ure, the  clear,  olive  skin,  with  damask  rose  show- 
ing on  the  cheeks,  and  the  handsome  Jewish 
features  seem  to  speak  of  superiority  in  every 
way ;  but,  alas !  they  have  been  for  so  many  cen- 
turies a  subject  people,  that  now,  mentally  and 
morally,  they  have  only  a  quickness  at  repartee 
and  a  cringing  good  nature  to  recommend  them. 

The  costume  of  both  men  and  women  consists 
of  a  number  of  loose,  long  coats  with  full  sleeves. 
In  cool  weather  they  pile  on  extra  coats  and  help 

139 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

the  warming  process  by  tying  about  the  waist 
under  their  clothing  a  kangra  (a  clay,  basket- 
covered  pot)  full  of  live  coals. 

The  women  and  girls  wear  a  great  deal  of 
cheap,  showy  jewelry,  and  arrange  their  hair  in 
numberless  thin  plaits,  tying  all  the  plaits  to- 
gether at  the  end  with  a  narrow,  black  ribbon 
which  hangs  almost  to  the  ground. 

The  Kashmiris  have  the  praiseworthy  custom 
of  washing  themselves  and  their  clothes  occa- 
sionally— once  every  six  months  by  strict  com- 
pulsion of  the  Government. 

Peasants  of  Kashmir  address  every  white 
person  as  "Huzoor"  (Your  Highness).  This  was 
a  custom  unknown  to  me  when  I  asked  our  boat- 
man what  I  should  call  the  sweeper  or  refuse- 
carrier,  one  of  a  class  which,  throughout  India, 
are  outcast  of  the  outcastes. 

''Htisoorf"  inquired  the  boatman,  meaning, 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  what  did  you  say?" 

*'0h,  'Hiizoor'  is  it?"  I  said,  quite  satisfied, 
and  for  many  days  I  continued,  in  my  ignorance, 
to  address  the  poor  menial  as  "Your  Highness." 

The  dlninga  bore  us  along  down  the  river,  out 
through  Wular  Lake,  the  largest  lake  in  India, 
and  wonderfully  beautiful  in  its  perfect  tran- 
quillity with  the  brilliant  reflections  of  the  snow 
mountains  in  its  depths,  on  to  the  river  again, 

140 


OFF   TO   KASHMIR 

and  so  to  Srinagar,  where  we  found  our  house- 
boat. 

Place  the  rooms  of  a  summer  cottage  end  to 
end,  mount  them  on  a  carved  walnut  barge,  place 
a  veranda  on  top  of  all,  and  you  have  a  Kash- 
mir houseboat. 

Most  of  the  European  visitors  in  Srinagar  live 
in  such  houseboats  and  move  about  the  city — a 
real  Venice  of  the  Orient — by  means  of  graceful 
little  shikarras  (native  rowboats). 

Obtaining  the  necessary  permit  from  the  Resi- 
dent to  remain  in  Kashmir  for  a  time,  we  sur- 
rendered ourselves  to  a  life  of  "sweet  do-nothing- 
ness" in  that  love-haunted  and  loveliest  of  vales. 

With  its  roses  the  brightest  that  earth  ever  gave, 
Its  temples,  and  grottos,  and  fountains  as  clear 
As  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hang  over  their  wave. 


XXII 

SUMMER   SIGHTSEEING 

AGAIN  our  train  sped  toward  Medak  and 
work  and  reality! 

Our    first    stop    on    the    homeward 
journey  was  at  Amritsar,  the  "City  of  the  Sikhs." 

Before  we  entered  the  Golden  Temple, 
cloth  shoes  were  tied  over  the  "unholy"  leather 
of  our  footgear,  and  in  these  we  "galumphed" 
about  and  saw  the  "sights." 

Day  and  night,  one  priest  or  another  drones 
out  the  sacred  words  of  the  "Granth"  before  an 
ever-burning  lamp.  It  was  a  peaceful  sight — 
the  disciples,  the  youth  of  the  Sikhs,  seated  about 
the  old,  white-haired  priest,  listening  to  the  words 
as  they  fell  from  his  lips,  while  the  temple  doves 
helped  themselves  to  the  wheat  spread  out  on 
the  floor  as  an  ofifering  to  the  gods,  or  in  friendly 
fashion  took  the  grains  from  our  hands. 

The  Sikh  costume  seemed  to  me  the  most  manly 
in  India.  The  lower  garment  made  of  thin,  white 
cloth  in  the  form  of  trousers,  short  and  full  and 
falling  to  the  knee,  impressed  me  more  favorably 

142 


SUMMER   SIGHTSEEING 

than  the  effeminate  flowing  dhoti  or  the  long 
skirt.  The  Sikhs  never  cut  the  hair  or  beard, 
and  usually  wear  about  the  turban  the  chekram, 
a  steel  ring  or  quoit,  thin,  flat,  and  razor-sharp, 
which  they  can  throw,  when  occasion  requires, 
with  deadly  skill. 

A  good-natured  ayah  in  charge  of  the  wait- 
ing-room at  the  Amritsar  station  brought  us  our 
tea.  As  she  placed  the  tray  with  its  tempting  con- 
tents before  us,  she  wiped  her  well-oiled  hair  and 
sweat-bedewed  face  with  her  broad,  brown  hands, 
exclaiming,  ''Very  hot,  Missy  Sahib!"  Then, 
before  we  could  prevent  her,  she  seized  a  slice 
of  the  delicately  browned  toast  and,  crushing  it 
in  her  hand,  held  it  out  toward  Miss  Richardson, 
asking  innocently:  "You  liking  toast,  Missy 
Sahib?    You  eating  toast?" 

"Well,  not  now,"  replied  Miss  Richardson, 
whom  fever  and  the  intense  heat  had  left  with 
little  appetite  in  any  event,  and,  turning  white 
about  the  mouth,  she  suddenly  left  the  room, 
while  the  ayah  looked  after  her  in  amazement. 

A  few  stations  farther  on  Miss  Richardson 
and  I  left  the  rest  of  our  party  and  went  some- 
what out  of  our  way  to  visit  Lucknow  and  Cawn- 
pore,  the  cities  that  suffered  most  in  the  great 
Mutiny  of  1857. 

143 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

At  Lucknow  we  engaged  an  ekka  to  take  us 
to  the  ruined  Residency. 

An  ekka  is  the  queerest  little  cart  imaginable 
— a  small  wooden  platform  on  two  wheels,  with  a 
canopy  for  a  top  and  drawn  by  a  single  horse. 
On  the  wooden  platform  one  must  sit  cross- 
legged  like  the  Indians,  or  let  the  feet  hang  down 
over  the  wheel,  as  the  English  usually  prefer  to 
do.  So,  holding  our  skirts  away  from  the  wheels 
as  best  we  might,  we  rattled  and  jounced  merrily 
along  to  our  destination. 

The  buildings  are  a  mass  of  vine-covered  ruins 
full  of  great  holes  and  gashes  where  for  five, 
long,  heart-breaking  months  the  ''millions  of 
musket  bullets  and  thousands  of  cannon  balls" 
poured  in  unceasingly. 

We  climbed  to  the  "topmost  roof"  where  all 
through  the  siege  the  ''banner  of  England  blew." 
The  flag  of  England  still  flies  on  the  mended  flag- 
staff. As  fast  as  worn  out,  it  is  replaced  by  a 
new  one,  and  always  floats  proudly  over  the  ruins 
below,  the  only  flag  of  the  British  Empire  that 
is  never  lowered. 

We  heard  again  the  story  of  Jessie  Brown,  the 
Scotch  girl,  how  she  had  dreamed  she  heard 
the  pibroch  and  prophesied  the  immediate  coming 
of  Sir  Colin  Campbell  and  his  Highlanders,  and 
how  that  very  day  the  pibrochs  really  sounded 

144 


SUMMER   SIGHTSEEING 

and  a  loud  cheer  from  the  earthworks  told  that 
Sir  Colin  had  arrived. 

We  saw  the  gap  in  the  wall  caused  by  the 
bomb  which  ended  the  life  of  the  brave  and  be- 
loved commander,  Sir  Henry  Lawrence,  and  out- 
side the  great  white  marble  cross  that  marks  his 
resting-place.  On  it  are  inscribed  the  words 
which  he  himself  requested  for  his  epitaph: 

Here  lies  Henry  Lawrence  who  tried  to  do  his  duty. 

May  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul ! 
Born  28th  of  June,  1806.    Died  4th  of  July,  1857. 

Leaving  the  Residency,  we  visited  several 
other  buildings,  all  vibrant  with  memories  of  the 
siege;  looked  with  interest  on  the  Bailey  Guard 
Gate  held  so  bravely  by  Lieutenant  Aitken  and 
his  loyal  Sepoys;  gave  a  few  coins  to  the  totter- 
ing old  Indian  bhisti  (water-carrier)  who  had 
been  the  bhisti  at  the  time  of  the  siege,  and 
dashed  away  to  the  station  with  barely  time  to 
catch  the  train  for  Cawnpore. 

On  reaching  Cawnpore,  we  lost  no  time  in 
driving  out  to  see  the  "Angel." 

Poor  Cawnpore  of  tragic  memory !  A  place  of 
memories  only,  the  smiling  green  of  to-day  hid- 
ing all  traces  of  the  bloody,  pitiless  carnage 
enacted  there  fifty  years  ago! 

We  strolled  leisurely  about,  inspecting  Maro- 
chetti's    beautiful    white    marble    statue   which 

145 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

stands  above  the  well  where  the  bodies  of  the 
British  women  and  children  were  thrown.  In 
front  of  a  cross  the  angel  stands,  looking  down- 
ward, her  arms  folded  on  her  breast  and  the 
palm  branch  of  martyrdom  in  each  hand,  the 
tender  peace  of  her  face  seeming  to  banish  all 
hatred  against  the  perpetrators  of  the  deed  which 
she  commemorates.  On  the  pedestal  an  inscrip- 
tion reads: 

Sacred  to  the  perpetual  memory  of  the  great  com- 
pany of  Christian  people,  chiefly  women  and  chil- 
dren, who,  near  this  spot,  were  cruelly  massacred 
by  the  followers  of  the  rebel  Nana  Doondoo  Panth, 
of  Bithoor,  and  cast,  the  dying  and  the  dead,  into 
the  well  below,  on  the  15th  day  of  July,  1857. 

An   octagonal   Gothic    screen    surrounds    the 

statue,   and  over  the  arched  entrance  are  the 

words : 

"These  are  they  which  came  out  of  great  tribu- 
lation." 

Outside  this  screen  is  a  circle  of  cypress  trees, 
and  the  whole  is  in  a  wide  park  rich  with  verdure. 

We  were  charmed  and  awed  by  the  beauty 
and  solemnity  of  it  all,  but  the  intense  heat  and 
glare  of  noonday  soon  made  us  long  for  the 
shelter  of  our  carriage.  Our  driver,  being  an 
Indian,  was,  by  the  city  laws,  forbidden  the 
grounds,  so  we  had  told  him  to  wait  for  us  at 

146 


SUMMER   SIGHTSEEING 

the  gate.  We  walked  quickly  back  to  the  gate, 
but  the  carriage  had  vanished.  Calling  loudly, 
we  waited.  Minute  after  minute  went  by,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  driver  or  his  vehicle, 
and  we  never  again  saw  either.  Not  knowing 
which  way  to  turn,  for  we  had  been  too  busy 
with  the  sights  of  the  city  to  notice  our  route 
from  the  station,  we  asked  several  of  the 
passers-by  where  we  might  find  a  carriage,  but 
all  replied  in  the  same  apathetic  voice  and  with 
a  shrug  of  stupid  indifference,  "A  carriage? 
How  should  I  know  where  you  can  get  a  car- 
riage?" Then  we  asked:  ''Where  is  the  railway 
station?"  And  the  answer  came  with  the  same 
shrug:  "The  railway  station?  How  should  I 
know  where  it  is?"  So  we  turned  back  into  the 
garden  to  wait,  hoping  our  driver  might  return. 
In  circling  about  we  lost  our  bearings,  and,  try 
as  we  might,  could  not  find  the  entrance  again. 
After  a  half-hour  of  fruitless  search  I  spied  a 
drain-hole  under  the  fence.  It  was  dry  and 
choked  with  dead  leaves,  but,  by  pushing  the 
leaves  away,  there  was  room  for  a  person  to 
squeeze  through,  and,  lying  flat  on  our  faces,  we 
did  so.  Rising  and  brushing  the  dust  from  our 
clothes,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  strange  street, 
and  looked  up  and  down  in  vain  for  a  white 
face. 

147 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

It  was  the  hottest  part  of  the  day  in  the  hot- 
test month  of  the  year  in  the  hottest  city  of  all 
hot  India.  Miss  Richardson's  eyes  and  cheeks 
were  flushed  with  fever,  and  when  we  espied 
a  wayside  pump  we  almost  ran  toward  it.  A 
copious  draught  of  water  seemed  not  to  allay 
in  the  least  our  thirst.  Time  and  again  we  left 
the  pump  only  to  return  to  it  before  we  had  gone 
a  hundred  yards  away,  drinking  deeply  each  time, 
until  I  felt  quite  prepared  for  the  old  Chinese 
form  of  execution.  (Man  filled  with  water — 
board  across  stomach — two  other  men  jumping 
on  board — result  evident!)  But  something  had 
to  be  done  beyond  the  drinking  of  water  unless 
we  wished  to  perish  with  sunstroke. 

"Ah!"  I  exclaimed  suddenly,  "there  is  a  chim- 
ney and  smoke.  That  means  a  factory,  and  a 
factory  means  a  white  man.  Ship  ahoy!"  and 
we  hurried  toward  the  blessed  smokestack,  my 
chest  swelling  with  pride  at  my  Sherlock  Holmes 
deduction.  Arrived  at  the  smokestack,  we  found 
it  surrounded  by  a  high  board  fence  and  on  the 
gate  in  large  black  letters,  "No  Admittance." 
Much  we  cared  for  signs  and  symbols  just  then. 
We  pushed  the  gate  open  with  bold  hand  and 
marched  in. 

"Sahib  hai?"  (Is  the  master  in?),  I  asked  of 
an  astonished  Indian. 

1.48 


SUMMER   SIGHTSEEING 

"Hai"  (He  is  in)  was  the  laconic  response. 

"We  would  see  him."  So  we  were  led  into  a 
large,  comfortable-looking  office,  where  at  the 
desk  sat  a  middle-aged  English  gentleman  with 
a  kindly  face.  Two  hours  under  the  fierce  noon- 
day sun  had  quite  upset  my  nerves,  and  I  could 
have  wept  for  joy  on  the  man's  neck,  but,  for- 
tunately for  him,  restrained  myself.  He  heard 
our  story,  immediately  ordered  iced  water  for 
us,  and  sent  for  a  carriage.  Conversing  pleas- 
antly under  the  cool  punkah,  we  drank  the  de- 
licious water,  and  by  the  time  our  carriage  ar- 
rived felt  quite  refreshed.  As  we  rode  along  in 
its  grateful  shelter,  we  admitted  that  we  had 
for  once  known  the  full  force  of  Tennyson's 
''heat  like  the  mouth  of  a  hell." 

The  thought  of  anything  except  the  open  air 
on  such  a  day  was  intolerable,  so  we  continued 
our  sight-seeing. 

At  the  ghat,  where  the  treacherous  river  mas- 
sacre took  place,  a  memorial  temple  is  in  charge 
of  an  old  Indian  who  receives  a  pension  from  the 
British  Government.  He  said  he  had  witnessed 
the  whole  tragedy,  and  told  us  of  that  terrible 
day  on  the  river.  With  tears  streaming  down 
his  face  he  exclaimed:  "It  was  not  the  Sahibs 
nor  the  Mem  Sahibs,  but  the  baba  log  (children). 

149 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Oh,  the  baba  log!  I  could  not  bear  it!"  And  he 
hid  his  wrinkled  old  face  in  his  hands. 

A  handsome  memorial  church  stands  over  the 
site  of  the  pitiful  little  fort  where  for  three 
weeks,  in  a  temperature  ranging  from  130  to 
140  degrees  Fahrenheit  all  day,  three  hundred 
starving,  poorly  armed  British  men,  fighting  with 
the  mad  courage  of  desperation,  the  sight  of  their 
helpless  wives  and  little  ones  goading  them  on, 
kept  at  bay  more  than  three  thousand  Sepoys, 
well  fed,  having  abundant  ammunition,  and  fight- 
ing at  two  or  three  hundred  yards'  distance  from 
behind  bullet-proof  defenses. 

In  this  memorial  church  we  saw  the  colored 
sketch,  made  by  an  English  artist  a  few  days 
after  the  tragedy,  of  the  room  in  the  Bibi  Ghar 
where  the  traitorous  miscreant,  Nana  Sahib, 
caused  the  slaughter  of  the  women  and  children. 
Clotted  blood  lay  deep  on  the  floor;  saber-cuts 
showed  low  down  on  the  walls;  bloody  finger- 
stains  were  everywhere;  the  children's  quaint, 
old-fashioned  bonnets,  shoes  and  socks,  blood- 
stained and  torn,  mingled  with  broken  combs  and 
toys,  torn  pages  from  books,  and  strands  of  hair. 
All  the  signs  of  that  fearful  confusion  were  de- 
picted, and  brought  the  scene  so  vividly  before 
us  that  we  felt  sick  and  faint  with  horror. 

At  the  station  dinner  we  became  engaged  in 

150 


SUMMER   SIGHTSEEING 

conversation  with  an  elderly  man  who  had  been 
a  soldier  under  Havelock  and  had  seen  the  dread- 
ful room  in  Bibi  Ghar  shortly  after  the  massacre. 
He  had  a  genial  smile  and  a  pleasant,  courtly 
manner  for  us,  but  he  seemed  unable  to  address 
the  Indian  waiters  in  anything  but  harsh,  per- 
emptory tones.  As  he  spoke  of  the  Cawnpore 
events  of  '57,  his  eyes  flashed  hatred  and  he 
seemed  as  bitter  about  the  Mutiny  as  if  it  had 
occurred  last  week. 

''The  dogs!  The  devils!  The  lying,  thieving 
rats!  I  hate  every  one  of  them!  I'll  never  for- 
give them!  Don't  you  trust  them!  They'll  do 
you  every  time." 

The  shadow  of  the  Peace  Angel's  wings  had 
not  fallen  across  his  wounded  spirit. 

From  the  day's  stifling  heat,  the  temperature 
had  dropped  to  a  delightful  coolness,  and  after 
dinner  we  started  out  for  a  walk.  The  streets 
were  full  of  soldiers,  for  a  large  British  fort  is 
at  Cawnpore.  English  ''Tommies"  swung  jaunt- 
ily along,  with  tiny,  round  caps  over  their  ears ; 
great,  brawny  Highlanders  strolled  by  in  short 
trousers  of  plaid  and  the  bonnet  of  the  Scot; 
and  now  and  then  a  gaily  dressed  British  officer 
dashed  past  us  on  a  handsome,  well-groomed 
horse.  It  was  fascinating,  the  city  with  its  bril- 
liant lights  and  busy  life;  and  still  more  fasci- 

151 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

nating  was  the  sudden  change  to  the  wide  fields 
and  quiet  roads  of  the  country,  where  the  gentle 
rustle  of  the  trees  and  the  occasional  soft  chirp 
of  a  restless  bird  were  all  that  broke  the  silence 
of  the  calm  and  shadow-subdued  moonlight. 

The  ambient  air  with  Unseen  Things  was  stirred, 
And  the  low  music  of  the  moving  trees 
Sang  to  the  heart.    The  penetrating  stars 
And  the  majestic  mistress  of  the  night — 
Fair,  silver-sandaled  moon — on  her  slow  way 
Across  the  spacious  sky  looked  down  between 
The  boughs  that  parted  to  the  passing  breeze, 
Perfumed  with  breath  of  blossom  and  of  rose, 
Of  aloe  and  acacia  trees  in  bloom, 
And  all  the  pungent  odors  of  the  night. 


XXIII 

WOMEN    OF   INDIA 

THE  echoes  of  the  Western  slogan,  "Votes 
for  Women!"  have  not  reached  India. 
A  middle-aged  woman  came  to  our 
hospital  bruised  and  bleeding  from  a  beating  she 
had  received  at  the  hands  of  her  husband.  She 
stated  simply  the  cause  of  her  wounds  and  asked 
medicine  for  them,  while  her  husband,  apparently- 
unashamed,  stood  beside  her,  joining  her  in  the 
request  for  "good  medicine."  When  I  took  her 
into  another  room  to  apply  the  dressing,  I  asked 
indignantly :  "Do  you  Indian  women  not  feel  bit- 
terly humiliated  and  resentful  when  your  hus- 
bands beat  you  thus?" 

The  woman  gazed  at  me  in  surprise. 

"Why,  certainly  not,"  she  replied.  "How  else 
should  we  learn  wisdom?" 

No  such  reactionary  spirit  imbued  the  girl  of 
Nandagaon,  a  Christian  woman  whose  case  was 
tried  at  court  because  she  had  deserted  her  hus- 
band and  two-months-old  baby.  As  we  were 
touring  at  Nandagaon  at  the  time  of  her  trial, 
the  patel  invited  us  to  be  present. 

153 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Under  a  huge  banyan  tree  the  villagers  had 
gathered,  the  judge,  with  the  other  chief  officials, 
sitting  on  a  bench,  where  we  were  asked  to  join 
them. 

The  prisoner,  a  pretty  girl  of  sixteen,  who  had 
been  brought  in  from  the  fields  to  meet  her  ac- 
cusers, stood  in  the  center  of  the  group,  her  sickle 
in  her  hand  and  her  red  sari  girt  tightly  around 
her  shapely  thighs. 

"Let  the  prisoner  speak!"  shouted  the  judge, 
and  everybody  was  silent,  while  the  girl,  throw- 
ing back  her  proud  little  head,  made  her  plea 
in  a  clear,  defiant  voice. 

"My  husband  and  I  became  Christians.  Then 
all  the  village  people  taunted  me  with  cruel 
words.  When  I  went  to  the  village  well  for 
water,  the  other  women  pushed  me  away,  crying: 
'Don't  touch  our  well!  Don't  come  near  our 
houses!'  When  I  took  my  baby  into  the  street 
they  cried:  'You  have  brought  the  curses  of  the 
gods  on  the  head  of  your  son.  Don't  let  your  foul 
shadow  rest  on  us!  You  are  defiled!'  I  told 
my  husband.  He  said :  'Heed  them  not !  Bear  it 
patiently!'  Could  I  bear  it?  Could  I?  No.  I 
begged  my  husband  to  take  me  to  some  village 
where  there  were  other  Christians,  but  he  said 
he  could  not  leave  his  work  here.  The  women's 
curses  rang  day  and  night  in  my  ears  till  they 

154 


WOMEN   OF   INDIA 
set  my  heart  on  fire.    I  could  not  bear  it.    I  ran 


away." 


The  girl  stopped,  and  a  clamor  of  voices  broke 
forth.  Discipline  there  was  none.  Now  and  then 
could  be  heard  the  judge's  voice:  ''Wait!  Wait! 
Let  me  speak !"  But  nobody  paid  the  least  atten- 
tion until  each  man  had  decided  in  his  own  mind 
and  had  informed  his  neighbors  what  he  thought 
should  be  done  in  the  case.  When  at  last  the 
loud  shouts  had  died  to  murmurs,  the  judge 
spoke : 

"Your  husband,  at  the  advice  and  with  the 
help  of  the  kind  English  people,  will  settle  in 
another  town  among  Christians.  Will  you  go 
back  to  him?" 

"If  I  can  go  back  and  be  told  that  I  have  done 

no  wrong,  yes.     Otherwise "  and  a  defiant 

gesture  ended  her  sentence. 

"But  your  husband  will  have  to  beat  you  a 
little  that  you  may  not  do  this  wrong  again," 
said  the  judge. 

"Then  no!"  shouted  the  girl.  "I  will  not  go 
back!" 

"Well,  well,"  broke  in  the  husband  mildly,  "we 
could  perhaps  let  the  beating  go  this  time.  The 
babe  needs  his  mother's  care.  Come  home, 
woman" — he  seized  his  wife's  hand — "and  I 
promise  not  to  beat  you." 

155 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

So  they  walked  off  together,  and  the  court  ad- 
journed. 

The  almost  complete  ignorance  of  the  Indian 
woman  enslaves  her  to  the  men  of  her  family. 

Mr.  Posnett  called  one  day  on  a  high-caste 
Hindu  prince,  and,  while  they  talked  together, 
the  princess,  his  wife,  entered  the  room.  Placing 
on  the  floor  a  basin  of  water  she  had  brought, 
she  knelt  down  and  washed  her  husband's  feet. 
When  she  had  finished,  she  raised  the  basin  to 
her  lips  and  drank  some  of  the  water.  Through- 
out the  whole  ceremony  the  husband  seemed  ut- 
terly unconcerned.  When  asked  the  meaning 
of  the  act,  he  answered  simply,  "That?  Oh,  she 
does  that  every  day.  For  a  devout  and  faithful 
Hindu  wife  it  is  one  road  to  paradise." 

It  was  in  the  cool  of  sunset  when  we  led  the 
mild- faced  wife  of  a  Mahomedan  official  of 
Medak  up  to  the  flat  roof  of  the  hospital  to  enjoy 
the  lake  breezes. 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  gazing  with  wondering 
delight  on  the  scene  about  her,  "the  only  outdoor 
air  I  get  is  in  our  own  courtyard.  I  remember 
the  trees  of  my  childhood  home,  but  these  I  have 
never  seen  before,  nor  this  lake,  though  for  many 
years  I  have  lived  within  a  few  rods  of  them. 
You  English  ladies  should  be  very  grateful  for 
your  liberty.    Even  when  we  go  abroad  into  the 

'56 


WOMEN   OF   INDIA 

streets  our  men  carry  us  about  like  birds  in  a 
cage,  only  they  put  a  curtain  over  the  cage." 

Hamed,  an  Arab  boy  of  eight  years,  with 
pleading  eyes  and  girlish  features,  had  been  for 
two  years  unable  to  walk  owing  to  an  injury  of 
his  leg.  His  mother,  carrying  him  on  her  hip, 
brought  him  to  our  hospital,  and  after  an  opera- 
tion and  weeks  of  treatment,  he  left  us  proudly 
showing  us  how  easily  he  could  run  down  the 
steps. 

A  few  days  later  his  mother  came  to  the  dis- 
pensary door,  and  I  immediately  asked,  "How  is 
Hamed?" 

"Oh,"  she  replied,  "the  darling  boy  is  well, 
quite  well,  and  runs  about  like  other  children. 
This  noon  I  did  not  prepare  his  dinner  soon 
enough  to  suit  him  and  he  chased  me  all  about  the 
house,  beating  me  with  a  big  stick.  See!"  and 
she  showed  me  great  blue  and  bleeding  welts  on 
her  arms  and  legs,  "Hamed  made  these,  and  for 
these  I  have  now  come  to  get  soothing  medicine." 

In  the  Orient,  masculine  supremacy  runs  rife 
through  the  veins  of  even  the  infant  man-child. 
A  woman  came  into  the  dispensary  leading  by 
the  hand  a  boy  of  perhaps  five  years.  When  I 
had  heard  her  story  and  offered  her  medicine 
to  drink  she  shrank  back,  but  her  small  son,  in 
the  most  imperious  manner  possible,  pulled  at 

157 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

her  sari,  exclaiming,  ''What!  You  won't  drink! 
Sit  down  here  at  once  and  drink  the  medicine  as 
the  Doctor  Mem  Sahib  tells  you  to!"  As  she 
obediently  squatted  down,  he  stood  beside  her 
with  uplifted  hand  and  threatened,  "Hi,  hi! 
Drink,  I  tell  you !"  until  every  drop  was  drained. 

From  this  you  will  see  that  the  author  of  an 
article  in  a  leading  magazine  at  home  had  seen 
little  of  Indian  home  life  when  he  wrote  that 
the  child  who  could  say  "Shut  up!"  to  its  parents 
had  never  been  "conceived  or  conceived  of"  in 
India.  Not  only  "Shut  up !"  but  the  foulest  lan- 
guage and  emphasizing  kicks  and  blows  from 
child  to  both  mother  and  father  are  everyday 
occurrences.  On  the  whole,  I  cannot  imagine 
any  children  less  controlled  than  those  of  India. 
After  the  children  are  grown,  however,  there  are 
an  attractive  reverence  and  duti fulness  to  the 
parents  unusual  in  the  West.  To  marry  against 
a  parent's  command,  to  resent  physical  punish- 
ment, even  though  the  receiver  far  exceed  the 
giver  in  size,  or  to  grumble  against  the  burden 
of  an  aged  and  childish  parent,  would  be,  I 
should  say,  quite  foreign  to  the  East  Indian. 

The  ignorance  of  the  Indian  woman  also 
makes  her  childlike  in  many  ways.  A  doll  is 
caressed  as  warmly  by  the  mother  of  several 
children  as  if  one  of  her  own  babies  were  in  her 

158 


WOMEN   OF   INDIA 

arms,  and  in  many  an  Indian  home,  Mahomedan 
or  Hindu,  you  will  find  the  grown  women  playing 
happily  with  toy  furniture  or  toy  dishes. 

We  were  frequently  invited  to  a  doll's  wed- 
ding. At  one  we  attended,  the  small  boy  of  the 
house  was  espoused  to  the  doll-bride  with  all  the 
ceremonies  and  general  festivities  of  a  real  wed- 
ding. A  great  feast  was  given  and  large  sums 
of  money  were  spent.  When  we  asked  to  see 
the  bride,  the  mistress  of  the  house  remonstrated 
with  shocked  face.  *'Why,  don't  you  know  that 
the  bride  is  in  gosha  and  must  look  on  no  face 
but  that  of  her  husband?"  We  told  her  she 
could  grant  us  our  wish  by  telling  the  doll-bride 
to  keep  her  eyes  down,  so  she  smilingly  led  us 
into  an  inner  apartment. 

On  a  small  dais,  a  bit  of  cloth  shaped  some- 
what like  a  woman  had  been  placed  in  a  sitting 
posture.  It  was  dressed  in  the  correct  bridal 
costume — magenta  chuddah,  crimson  velvet  pa- 
jamas, and  green  and  yellow  silk  coat.  In  the 
center  of  what  purported  to  be  its  face,  a  loop  of 
thread  held  a  tiny  brass  nose-ring;  and  its  neck 
and  arms  and  feet  were  hung  with  tiny  jewels. 

Among  the  many  unhappy  Mahomedan  wives 
was  one  who  came  to  our  hospital  begging  treat- 
ment for  an  acute  earache  which  had  kept  her 
awake  for  three  nights.    When  I  suggested  that 

159 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

she  stay  in  hospital  and  have  the  ear  properly 
treated,  she  replied:  "I  will  come  again,  but  I 
cannot  stay  now.  I  have  given  my  husband  no 
children,  so  he  is  marrying  another  woman.  He 
brings  her  home  to-day,  and  I  must  go  and 
make  the  house  ready  and  prepare  the  wedding 
feast." 

It  is  surprising,  though,  in  what  harmony 
these  co-wives  often  live.  In  a  case  in  the  vil- 
lage a  second  wife  had  a  very  bad  time  after 
childbirth,  and  her  most  tender,  devoted  nurse 
was  the  first  wife  who  had  been  discarded  for 
the  usual  reason — lack  of  children.  Again,  when 
a  slave  girl,  one  of  our  patients  in  the  village, 
bore  her  master  a  son  and  nearly  died  in  con- 
vulsions, the  master's  wife  was  a  mother  to  her 
throughout.  Frequently,  when  you  ask  a  woman 
carrying  a  child  on  her  hip,  'Is  this  your  own 
child?"  she  replies :  "No,  it  is  the  child  of  my  hus- 
band's other  wife,  but  I  love  it  as  my  own." 

Ratnamma,  a  young  Brahman  woman,  was  a 
patient  in  our  hospital  when  I  first  came  to 
Medak.  One  night  she  smiled  at  me  so  brightly 
that  I  said  to  an  interpreter :  "Tell  her  that  her 
face  is  full  of  sunshine." 

"Why  not?"  responded  Ratnamma.  "Great 
joy  has  come  to  me  to-day."  Then,  yielding  to 
her  quiet  urging,  I  sat  beside  her  on  her  bed, 

1 60 


WOMEN   OF   INDIA 

and — a  nurse  interpreting  her  words  to  me — 
heard  her  story,  the  first  part  of  which  was  al- 
ready familiar  to  me. 

At  seventeen  years  of  age  she  had  given  birth 
to  the  bonny  boy  who,  as  she  told  her  tale,  lay 
asleep  in  her  arms.  When  the  baby  came  the  ig- 
norant midwife  had  injured  Ratnamma  so  that 
her  husband  refused  to  live  with  her,  and,  as  is 
the  custom  in  Hindu  life,  cast  her  out  from  his 
home.  As  Ratnamma's  family  was  rich  and 
noble,  she  did  not  suffer  privation,  but  the  re- 
proaches heaped  upon  her,  as  upon  all  husband- 
less  women  of  India,  made  her  life  miserable. 
Then  came  a  message  from  her  husband: 

"I  shall  soon  wed  another  woman,  and  when 
our  son  shall  be  weaned  I  shall  take  him  from 
you." 

Then  was  Ratnamma  panic-stricken.  As  no 
hakim  could  help  her,  she  turned  in  despair  and 
with  scant  faith  to  the  despised  Christians.  Dr. 
Watts  operated  and  completely  cured  her  dis- 
ability, and  Ratnamma  sent  the  good  news  to 
her  husband. 

"And  to-day,"  she  added,  "he  has  come  to  me 
loving  and  tender  as  of  old  and  wishes  to  take 
me  and  my  babe  back  to  his  home.  Should  not 
my  face  reflect  the  sunshine  in  my  soul?" 

i6i 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Women  of  India — wives,  mothers,  widows — 
my  heart  bleeds  for  you ! 

Even  the  proverbs  of  India  teach  hatred  and 
contempt  for  women.  Here  are  one  or  two  of  the 
many : 

''What  is  cruel?  The  heart  of  a  viper.  What 
is  more  cruel  ?  The  heart  of  a  woman.  What  is 
the  most  cruel  of  all?  The  heart  of  a  soulless, 
penniless  widow." 

"He  is  a  fool  who  considers  his  wife  as  his 
friend." 

''Educating  a  woman  is  like  putting  a  knife 
into  the  hands  of  a  monkey." 

When  a  girl  is  born  a  wail  goes  up  from  the 
entire  village  who  have  been  anxiously  waiting 
for  a  boy,  and  curses  and  reproaches  are  heaped 
on  the  innocent  infant  head.  Should  you  at  such 
a  time  ask  the  parents  if  a  child  had  been  born 
to  them,  they  would  reply:  "A  child?  No,  it  is 
only  a  girl !" 

In  former  generations  girl  infants  were  mur- 
dered on  the  slightest  pretext — because  of  a 
divine  injunction;  because  of  a  superstitition  that 
a  girl  baby  murdered  would  return  to  earth  a 
boy;  because  women,  generally  thought  useless 
and  expensive,  were  better  out  of  the  world;  or 
because  poverty  would  prevent  the  giving  of  a 
suitable  marriage  portion. 

162 


WOMEN   OF   INDIA 

The  baby  is  married,  often  to  a  man  of  middle 
age,  and  long  before  her  half -grown  body  is  pre- 
pared, she  is  brutally  compelled  to  begin  her  mar- 
ital duties,  and,  when  yet  in  her  own  childhood, 
she  becomes,  at  the  peril  of  her  fragile  life,  the 
mother  of  a  necessarily  fragile  child. 

If,  through  overwhelming  misfortune,  the 
girl's  husband  die,  her  sins  in  some  former  ex- 
istence are  supposed  to  be  the  cause  of  his  death, 
and  because  of  this  she  is  an  accursed  thing. 
Even  though  but  a  babe  and  knowing  nothing 
of  the  dead  husband,  she  is,  at  an  early  age, 
stripped  of  all  ornament,  and  put  in  the  coarsest 
raiment,  while  her  head  is  shaved  close  and  kept 
that  way.  Despised,  spat  upon,  cruelly  over- 
worked, starved,  beaten,  neglected  in  illness,  for- 
saken even  by  those  nearest  of  kin  to  her,  the 
child  passes  her  days  in  abject  terror  and  despair, 
until  death,  usually  not  long  delayed,  blessedly 
releases  her. 

When  a  child  is  about  to  be  born  the  expectant 
mother  is  thrust  into  the  cowshed  or  into  the  hot- 
test, closest  room  and  the  darkest  and  dirtiest 
in  the  house,  to  await  her  trial,  and  her  life  and 
the  life  of  her  unborn  child  are  entrusted  to  the 
ignorant  wife  of  the  low-caste  barber.  With 
foul  instruments  she  intrudes  on  nature's  honest 
efforts,  often  when  nature  needs  no  assistance. 

163 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

When  need  for  assistance  does  arise,  God  pity  the 
poor  victim  of  the  midwife's  malpractice!  The 
heartless  brutality  used  is  not  a  fit  subject  for 
print.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  in  such  cases  the 
babe  often  loses  its  life;  the  mother  nearly  al- 
ways. It  is  customary  in  India  to  ask  when  one 
hears  of  the  birth  of  a  child:  "Did  the  mother 
live?" 

A  slender  little  girl  of  ten  was  brought  to  the 
hospital  by  her  husband,  a  tall,  muscular  man  of 
forty.  The  child  shrank  piteously  from  the  man, 
who  held  her  firmly  by  the  wrist,  and  she  seemed 
overjoyed  to  leave  him  for  our  nurse,  who  led 
her  into  the  examining  room.  When  I  learned 
that  the  merciless  brute,  transgressing  even  the 
lax  Indian  ideas  of  decency  and  justice,  had  com- 
pelled the  consummation  of  marriage  and  had 
injured  his  child-wife  so  seriously  that  only  a 
grave  operation  could  restore  her  health,  I  felt 
like  shouting  aloud  to  all  the  women  of  the  happy 
Western  world  to  help  me  crush  the  evil  system 
responsible  for  the  soul-sickening  condition  of  the 
little  patient  before  me. 

Scarcely  able  to  control  my  indignation,  I  re- 
turned to  the  husband  and  bade  him  "listen  to 
my  words  of  wisdom." 

"Do  you  wish  a  son?"  I  asked.  That  struck 
the  right  chord,  and  he  replied:  "Does  not  every 

164 


WOMEN    OF    INDIA 

man  wish  for  that  more  than  for  aught  else?" 
''Then  hear  me!"  and  I  proceeded  to  tell  him 
simply  and  frankly  why  he  was  defeating  his 
own  object.  When  I  had  repeated  and  re- 
peated my  arguments,  I  had  partly  convinced 
his  asinine  brain — no,  not  "asinine,"  that  were 
an  insult  to  the  worthy  ass — that  I  was  right, 
and  he  promised  to  show  consideration  for  the 
helpless  child  in  his  power  and  to  let  her  remain 
at  our  hospital  for  a  time. 

There  is  a  hamlet  about  five  minutes'  walk 
from  our  compound  where  Brahmans  only  are 
allowed  to  live,  and  where  there  is  a  sacred  bath- 
ing-well. In  that  settlement  a  wife  of  fourteen 
years  was  expecting  immediate  motherhood. 
Something  was  not  right;  there  was  alarming 
delay;  and  all  the  wisdom  of  the  midwife  and  of 
the  old  men  and  women  had  been  called  upon  to 
furnish  help  in  the  dilemma.  As  is  usual  in  such 
cases,  a  ring  of  children,  among  whom  were  of 
necessity  two  boys  bearing  the  names  Rama  (one 
of  the  names  of  Vishnu,  God  of  Preservation) 
and  Lakshmanna  (the  masculine  form  of  Lak- 
shmi,  Vishnu's  wife),  encircled  the  well,  and  a 
brass  bowl  filled  with  the  sacred  water  was  passed 
from  one  child's  hand  to  another's  until  it  had 
gone  the  round  three  times.  Meanwhile  the  suf- 
fering girl  had  been  brought  to  the  well  and  the 

165 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

boy  Rama  handed  the  water  to  her  to  drink. 
Even  this  charm  failed;  so  at  last  they  all  ad- 
mitted it  would  be  wise  to  seek  help  from  the 
foreigners. 

I  was  asleep  in  my  cot  on  the  veranda  when 
a  man's  voice  aroused  me. 

"Please  come  quickly,  Honorable  Doctor  Lady" 
— and  the  matter  was  explained  to  me. 

In  a  moment  I  was  ready  and  the  messenger 
and  I  were  on  our  way,  when  we  met  another  man 
who  told  us  there  was  no  need  of  my  services 
for  the  child  was  born  and  all  was  well.  I  went 
back  to  bed  and  heard  nothing  more  of  the  case 
until  five  o'clock  the  following  afternoon.  Then 
a  messenger  came  in  haste  and  said  that  a  lie  had 
been  told  me  the  preceding  night;  that  the  child 
had  not  been  born,  but  that  they  had  wished  to 
try,  without  my  interference,  another  "trick," 
which  was  that  a  man  should  go  quietly  behind 
the  patient's  head  without  her  knowledge  and 
suddenly  discharge  a  shotgun  close  to  her  ear. 
The  "trick"  had  been  carried  out — the  messenger 
continued — the  dead  child  had  been  instantly 
born,  and  the  young  mother  had  screamed  with 
pain  for  many  minutes  and  then  had  gone  into 
convulsions.  When  I  arrived  on  the  scene  the 
patient  was  rapidly  passing  from  one  convulsion 
into  another,  and  I  saw  instantly,  and  told  the 

i66 


WOMEN   OF   INDIA 

people,  that  the  poor  girl  had  been  done  to  death. 

I  stayed  by  her  side  until  dawn,  when  her  spirit 

took  its  flight  from  her  tortured  body. 

My  God,  can  such  things  be ! 
Hast  Thou  not  said  that  whatsoe'er  is  done 
Unto  Thy  weakest  and  Thy  humblest  one 
Is  even  done  to  Thee? 


XXIV 

JUNGLE    FOES 

A  WILD  beast  scare  had  stirred  the  whole 
district.  In  villages  bordering  on 
Medak  three  babies  had  been  eaten  by 
tigers.  A  leopard  seized  a  sleeping  boy  and 
began  to  drag  him  to  the  woods.  The  boy's 
screams  roused  his  father,  who  caught  him  by 
the  legs  and  fought  madly  with  the  leopard  for 
possession  of  the  child.  At  last  the  screams  of 
both  father  and  son  frightened  the  beast,  and, 
letting  go  its  hold,  it  fled.  The  boy's  face  was 
torn  completely  through  from  mouth  to  ear,  and 
his  father  brought  him  to  our  dispensary  at  Sur- 
janna,  where  Miss  Posnett  sewed  up  the  wound, 
which  healed  nicely. 

As  Miss  Tombleson  and  I  strolled  along  the 
Ramyanpett  road  one  day,  a  wolf  came  out  and 
stood  in  front  of  us,  looked  us  over  calmly,  and 
walked  away  again. 

A  few  days  later  there  was  great  excitement  in 
the  compound.  One  of  our  missionaries  had 
seen  a  wolf  sneak  behind  the  cook-house,  where, 

1 68 


JUNGLE    FOES 

lying  about  in  the  hot  night  air,  babies  galore 
slept  peacefully  beside  their  mothers.  The  crea- 
ture escaped  before  it  could  be  shot  and  for- 
tunately no  harm  was  done.  The  wolf  stories 
told  by  the  people  are  most  thrilling,  and  truly 
the  beast  has  an  ugly  way  of  hunting.  Finding 
an  infant  beside  its  mother,  it  creeps  up  in  the 
dead  of  night  and  slowly  and  stealthily  rolls  the 
child  away  from  its  protector.  Then  the  sharp 
fangs  meet  in  the  little  throat,  there  is  a  quickly 
stifled  cry,  and  the  mother  wakes  to  see  her  babe 
in  the  jaws  of  the  wolf  as  he  leaps  away  into 
the  darkness.  So  the  wolves,  because  of  the 
secrecy  of  their  attack,  have  come  to  be  more 
dreaded  than  even  the  man-eating  tiger. 

Within  a  few  days  the  wolf  that  had  visited 
our  compound  came  again,  and  fortunately  one 
of  the  English  gentlemen  saw  it  in  time  and 
killed  it  with  one  shot.  Then  the  people,  wild 
with  exultation,  danced  and  sang  and  shouted  for 
hours  around  the  gaunt,  gray  body. 

Two  of  our  missionaries  returning  from  Ram- 
yanpett  reported  that  a  leopard  had  followed  the 
bandy  for  some  distance,  leaving  at  last  on  the 
track  of  wild  deer  which  had  just  gone  on  in 
front. 

That  was  about  the  fifth  time  a  leopard  had 
been  seen  by  our  people  on  the  Ramyanpett  Road ; 

169 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

and  one  night  a  half -grown  leopard  sprang  over 
our  hospital  wall  and  nearly  drove  the  helpless 
nurses  into  nervous  prostration  by  sleeping  till 
the  dawn  in  a  vacant  bed  on  the  veranda. 

It  was  after  all  this  that  I  saw  for  the  first 
time  a  wild  leopard  in  his  native  haunts. 

We  were  driving  along  the  Ramyanpett  Road, 
one  of  our  pet  terriers  running  behind  the  tonga. 
Suddenly  the  driver  brought  the  bullocks  to  a 
halt,  and,  pointing  to  the  bushes  at  the  side  of 
the  road,  whispered :  "A  leopard !"  True  enough ! 
There  in  the  grass,  scarcely  ten  yards  ahead  of 
us,  crouched  the  savage  beauty,  his  head  lowered 
and  his  eyes  almost  closed  as  he  gazed  fixedly 
at  us. 

I  softly  called  the  terrier  to  me,  and,  holding 
him  fast  in  my  arms,  we  waited,  the  driver's  eyes 
and  mine  never  leaving  that  mass  of  spotted  vel- 
vet in  front  of  us,  until  fullv  fifteen  minutes  had 
passed,  when  the  leopard,  doubtless  tired  of  our 
monotonous  standstill,  deliberately  rose  to  his 
feet,  and,  with  an  occasional  bound  from  rock  to 
rock,  trotted  slowly  off  into  the  deeper  wood. 

We  frequently  found  cobras  and  other  poison- 
ous snakes  in  the  bungalows.  As  I  came  out  of 
my  dressing  room  one  day,  a  slight  movement 
startled  me,  and  there,  not  three  feet  away,  a 
half-grown  cobra  was  writhing.    When  I  started 

170 


JUNGLE    FOES 

at  sight  of  him  he  raised  his  head,  spread  wide 
his  hood,  and  darted  his  tongue  at  me  with  a 
warning  hiss.  I  did  not  stop  to  cultivate  his  ac- 
quaintance further,  but  rushed  out  and  sent  the 
servants  to  kill  him.  When  they  arrived,  how- 
ever, he  had  escaped. 

A  cobra  had  to  be  chased  out  of  the  girls* 
schoolyard  before  they  could  begin  afternoon  ses- 
sion; and  another  cobra  came,  an  uninvited 
guest,  to  Miss  Tombleson's  prayer-meeting  for 
the  coolie  women.  In  the  midst  of  the  crude  at- 
tempts at  hymn  singing  and  of  the  howls  of  the 
babies — a  coolie  woman  always  has  a  babe  in 
arms — one  of  the  women  shrieked  and  stared  at 
the  ceiling.  Following  her  gaze,  the  others  looked 
up  and  there  hung  a  cobra  with  a  dead  rat  in 
his  mouth.  The  weight  of  the  rat  seemed  too 
much  for  the  snake ;  he  dropped  his  burden  among 
the  women,  followed  it,  striking  the  floor  with  a 
thud,  and  then,  himself  thoroughly  frightened, 
writhed  swiftly  down  the  steps  and  out  of  sight 
under  the  stones. 

One  market  day  as  I  stood  near  the  dispensary 
veranda  at  Ramyanpett,  listening  to  the  singing 
of  the  Christians  in  the  little  chapel  only  a  few 
yards  distant,  I  saw  an  immense  king  cobra 
writhing  along  the  ground  close  to  the  side  of 
the  chapel.     Suddenly,  to  my  horror,  he  raised 

171 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

his  hooded  head  and  looked  in  at  an  open  window 
beside  which  a  little  schoolgirl  stood,  singing 
lustily.  The  snake's  head  was  just  back  of  the 
child's  and  not  six  inches  from  it.  With  a  swift 
prayer  that  the  child  might  not  see  the  serpent 
and  make  a  fatal  move,  I  gave  a  low,  shrill 
whistle.  The  snake  turned  his  head  in  my  direc- 
tion, and  as  he  did  so  I  jumped  toward  him  wav- 
ing my  arms.  Instantly  he  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  sped  into  the  long  grass  near  by,  while  my 
brain  swam  with  the  joyful  reaction. 


XXV 
NEW   CAMPING   GROUNDS 

THE  long  Mahomedan  and  Hindu  holi- 
days and  big  feasts  occur  during  the 
winter  season,  hence  all  the  Indians  are 
too  busy  merrymaking  to  attend  to  their  sick 
relatives.  When  I  told  a  Mahomedan  gentleman 
that  his  granddaughter  would  die  if  they  did  not 
bring  her  to  the  hospital,  he  replied:  ''I  believe 
you.  Doctor  Mem  Sahib,  but  what  can  we  do? 
We  have  no  time  to  bring  her  now  or  to  stay 
there  with  her.  For  yet  many  days  the  feast 
must  be  celebrated."  This  practical  emptying  of 
the  hospital  usually  gave  us  an  opportunity  for 
medical  touring,  and  one  winter  we  planned  to 
go  to  some  town  near  the  railway.  Sending  the 
other  assistants  ahead,  and  taking  Abbisha- 
kamma  with  us,  we  boarded  the  train  at  Akana- 
pett  station. 

One  of  our  fellow  passengers  proved  the  first 
object  of  interest.  Carefully  hidden  from  sight 
behind  her  bhourka,  it  was  only  when  we  had 
passed  the  station  and  she  had  thrown  back  her 

173 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

veil  that  we  saw  how  old  and  sad  was  her  face. 

With  the  usual  idea  of  friendliness  in  India, 
Abbishakamma  had  soon  drawn  from  the  lady 
her  story. 

She  was  traveling  to  Hyderabad  to  take  charge 
of  the  children  of  her  daughter  who  had  just 
died.  The  bereaved  mother  wept  bitterly  when 
she  spoke  of  this  tenderly  loved  daughter;  how 
fair  she  was,  how  good  and  true,  how  intelligent ! 
She  had  been  "educated"  and  could  read  and 
write.  "Oh,  never  before  was  so  lovely  a  flower 
torn  from  its  stem  by  the  hand  of  Allah !" 

As  we  left  the  car,  the  old  lady,  in  extreme 
courtesy,  slipped  off  her  shoes  and,  standing 
upon  the  seat,  bent  almost  double  in  her  parting 
salaam  to  us. 

Arrived  at  Wudrarum,  we  heard  the  loud  wail- 
ing for  the  dead  and  learned  that  the  patel's 
young  wife  had  just  died  in  childbirth.  They 
were  about  to  carry  her  to  her  funeral  pyre,  so, 
much  interested  in  the  funeral  ceremonies,  which 
we  had  never  yet  seen,  we  followed  with  the  hun- 
dreds of  villagers. 

The  litter  on  which  the  body  was  borne  con- 
sisted of  two  long,  parallel  poles,  to  which  were 
fastened  transversely,  with  ropes  of  straw,  seven 
pieces  of  wood.  The  shroud  was  wrapped  around 
the  body  and  bound  strongly  with  straw  ropes, 

174 


NEW   CAMPING   GROUNDS 

the  face  left  uncovered,  and  flowers  scattered 
over  all. 

The  relatives  and  friends  and  the  villagers  be- 
sides wailed  loudly  as  the  litter  was  carried  along, 
the  mother's  wail  rising  shrilly  above  the  rest: 

Oh!  the  apple  of  my  eye;  Oh,  my  darling;  my  blissful 

paradise. 
Oh  !  the  apple  of  my  eye,  where  hast  thou  hidden  thyself? 
Oh !  my  flower,  where  hast  thou  hidden  thyself  ? 

and  on  and  on  in  the  piteous  "Mother's  Wail" 
which  every  Indian  girl  learns  by  heart  in  early 
childhood. 

Three  times  the  litter  was  placed  on  the 
ground  and  each  time  the  mother  wept  and  wailed 
and  caressed  the  dead  face  of  her  beloved.  At 
one  of  the  halts  all  the  jewels  were  removed  from 
the  body. 

In  an  empty  field  on  an  oblong  pile  of  fagots, 
constituting  the  funeral  pyre,  the  corpse  was 
placed.  It  was  then  covered  with  small  splinters 
of  wood,  sprinkled  with  panchagavia  (the  five 
products  of  the  cow)  and  soaked  in  oil.  The 
husband,  holding  his  eldest  son — a  boy  of  eight — 
by  the  hand,  walked  about  the  pyre  three  times, 
the  boy  allowing  water  to  trickle  from  a  cracked 
earthern  coonda  he  held.  At  the  end  of  the  third 
trip  around  the  body,  the  boy  suddenly  dashed  the 
coonda  to  the  ground,   shattering  it  into  hun- 

175 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

dreds  of  pieces,  a  symbol  of  the  end  of  life.  All 
this  time  the  chief  mourners  and  everybody  else 
wept  and  wailed  and  struck  the  breast,  or,  in 
couples  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  they  swayed 
to  and  fro  in  the  extremity  of  grief,  or  in  the 
semblance  of  it  in  case  of  the  hired  mourners. 

Now  the  boy  took  a  lighted  torch  and  set  fire 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  fagot-pile.  When  the 
flames  had  caught,  the  family  departed  to  go 
through  with  the  long,  tedious  ceremonies  fol- 
lowing a  death.  The  mother  of  the  deceased 
must  walk  around  the  village  for  twelve  or  six- 
teen days,  wailing  always  and  calling  out  at  every 
gate:  "My  child  has  gone  from  me!"  So,  with 
the  bitter  cry,  "My  child,  she  was  my  very  own 
child!"  the  poor  old  creature  departed  on  her 
weary  round. 

We  watched  the  burning  until  the  body  was 
utterly  destroyed,  and  when  in  the  morning  we 
came  again  the  family  were  ready  to  gather  the 
ashes  and  throw  them  into  the  Ganges,  taking  the 
long  journey  for  the  purpose,  for  they  were 
wealthy  people  and  could  afford  this  "priceless 
blessing  for  the  dead." 

At  the  camp,  a  mother  brought  to  us  her  baby 
boy,  an  only  son,  whose  life  might  have  been 
easily  saved  by  a  slight  operation.  When  I  ex- 
plained this  to  her  and  begged  her  to  bring  the 

176 


NEW  CAMPING  GROUNDS 

child  to  our  Medak  Hospital,  she  exclaimed: 
"Mari  yetlaf  Sanipotai,  sanipotardoo.  Adritsh- 
tam!  Yanti  chayavallinoof"  (And  how?  If  he 
dies  he  dies!  It  is  fate.  What  can  I  do?)  Truly 
the  overcoming  of  obstacles  is  no  part  of  the 
Hindu  nature. 

The  day  following  was  a  feast  day,  but  that  did 
not  prevent  the  patients  nor  the  officials  of  the 
village  from  coming  to  us,  as  usual.  But  ah,  the 
splendor  of  these  "great  ones"!  The  blue  and 
pink  flowered  satins;  the  rich  velvets  with  silk 
embroidery ;  the  elegant  gold  and  silver  bordered 
turbans !  As  frankly  as  a  small  boy  displays  his 
first  trousers  they  showed  us  these  fine  garments. 

*'See !"  they  boasted,  turning  round  and  round 
for  our  inspection.  "Are  we  not  fine  in  our  new 
clothes?" 

Nothing  could  equal  the  careless  grace  of  the 
tall  pale  moonshi  as  he  tossed  back  his  long  hair 
in  the  evening  breeze  and  posed  for  us.  With 
much  ceremony  he  informed  us  that  they  would 
immediately  begin  to  collect  the  money  for  a 
dispensary,  as  they  all  were  extremely  anxious 
we  should  come  to  them  once  a  week,  and  that 
they  had  planned  to  inscribe  in  large  red  letters 
to  cover  the  entire  outer  wall  of  the  building  the 
words,  "Doctor  Mem  Sahib!" 

On  this  feast  day  presents  poured  in  faster 

177 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

[than  ever,  if  that  were  possible,  for  the  tahsil- 
dar,  the  peshgar,  the  moonshi,  and  the  patel 
had  during  our  entire  stay  in  their  village  vied 
with  one  another  in  providing  us  with  foodstuffs 
of  all  sorts.  When  these  gifts  of  food  were  pre- 
sented, the  long  procession  of  servants,  in  their 
medley  of  bright-colored  costumes,  and  bearing 
on  their  heads  huge  vessels  of  queer  shape, 
brought  vividly  to  mind  the  picture  of  England's 
Christmas  in  the  olden  days,  ''Bringing  in  the 
boar's  head." 

At  Mirzapally,  where  we  next  went,  black 
smallpox  was  working  havoc  in  the  village. 

Poshamma,  the  goddess  of  smallpox,  is  con- 
sidered by  the  Hindus  an  especially  powerful 
devil  goddess,  and,  as  a  rule,  the  Hindus  refuse 
to  give  any  form  of  treatment  for  the  disease, 
for  *'Did  not  the  goddess  Poshamma  send  the 
smallpox?  Shall  we  not  offend  her  if  we  try  to 
cure  the  victim  of  her  displeasure?" 

We  were  called  to  a  hut  where,  when  I  had 
become  accustomed  to  the  smoky  darkness,  I  saw 
on  the  floor  two  or  three  children  in  all  stages  of 
the  dreadful  disease.  One,  a  child  of  three  years, 
fairly  putrid  with  the  worst  form  of  smallpox, 
lay  with  her  head  in  the  lap  of  an  untainted  girl 
of  ten.    In  another  hut  a  woman,  stricken  down 

178 


NEW   CAMPING   GROUNDS 

by  the  black  demon  and  fainting  with  weakness, 
suckled  her  healthy  babe.    Alas,  poor  India ! 

Mirzapally  is  on  the  railroad  line  to  Hydera- 
bad, so  we  snatched  a  holiday  "in  town." 

We  called  on  Mrs.  Nundy,  and  then,  in  a  hired 
tonga,  drove  to  Secunderabad.  Our  driver's 
brutality  to  his  skeleton  horse  so  disgusted  us 
that,  after  vainly  begging  him  to  stop  whipping 
the  poor  beast  with  such  unnecessary  severity,  I 
devised  a  preventive  method.  Every  time  the 
horse  was  struck  I  said  nothing,  but,  much  to  the 
driver's  amazement  and  in  spite  of  his  shrill  pro- 
tests, I  reached  over  the  seat  and  gave  his  bare 
arm  a  severe  pinch — twisting,  torturing !  At  last 
his  dense  brain  grasped  the  "cause  and  effect" 
idea,  and  the  horse  was  allowed  to  trot  on  un- 
molested, while  the  driver  meekly  nursed  his 
bruised  limb. 

At  the  Secunderabad  post  office  I  asked  the 
cost  of  registering  a  parcel  "from  Secunderabad 
to  New  York  City."  After  a  full  hour's  search 
for  the  information  in  question,  the  Hindu  gentle- 
man in  charge  of  the  registry  department  closed 
the  books  over  which  he  had  been  poring,  and 
remarked  in  a  grave,  emphatic  tone:  "Madam, 
you  are  mistaken  in  the  name  of  the  city.  There 
is  a  New  York  State,  but  there  is  no  such  place 
as  New  York  City !" 

179 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

From  Secunderabad  we  came  back  to  Mirza- 
pally  and  journeyed  on  to  Sandampett.  We  were 
just  settling  ourselves  to  dinner  the  first  evening 
when  a  tall  form  enveloped  in  a  gray  blanket  fell 
at  my  feet,  and  in  the  patting  and  stammering 
which  followed,  I  could  recognize  only  that 
another  grateful  patient  had  found  us  out.  Then 
he  arose  and  we  beheld  the  patel  of  the  village, 
a  handsome  man  of  twenty-two,  who,  the  year 
previous,  had  undergone  a  serious  operation  in 
our  hospital.  I  recalled  that  when  he  came  to  us 
I  had  feared  for  his  life;  and  it  was  a  real  joy 
to  me  to  see,  instead  of  the  thin,  hollow-eyed 
youth  I  had  known,  this  fine,  strapping  fellow. 
He  had  forgotten  not  one  of  the  kindnesses 
shown  him  in  his  illness. 

"Did  you  not  smooth  my  hair  and  call  me  your 
son?  Did  you  not  watch  over  me  day  and  night 
with  loving  tenderness?" 

And  so,  over  and  over,  he  enumerated  every 
act  of  ours  during  the  anxious  time  of  his  illness 
until  our  butler  gently  but  firmly  reminded  him 
that  it  was  eight  o'clock  and  we  had  not  yet  dined. 
Then,  reluctantly,  he  left  us. 

Our  grateful  patel  had  played  "advance  agent" 
to  such  good  purpose  that  over  three  hundred 
patients  came  to  us  next  day,  the  patel  standing 

i8o 


NEW   CAMPING   GROUNDS 

outside  and  urging  the  people  to  come  quickly 
and  in  numbers. 

"Do  you  fear  the  Mem  Sahibs  because  of  their 
white  faces  ?  There  is  no  fear,  I  tell  you ;  there 
is  no  fear!  They  work  no  evil;  they  work  all 
good ;  they  bring  hope  to  the  hopeless  and  health 
to  the  dying!" 

The  whirl  of  things  kept  us  from  realizing  our 
weariness  until  the  sun  had  gone  down,  when, 
with  an  involuntary  sigh  of  relief,  we  saw  the 
last  patient  depart,  and  started  out  for  a  little 
stroll  on  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  lake  back  of 
the  tent. 

How  can  the  Hindu  be  aught  else  than  poet 
and  dreamer  with  such  scenes  continuously  be- 
fore him? 

On  one  side  sparkled  the  broad,  blue  lake  dotted 
with  white  water  lilies  and  with  wild  duck  by  the 
hundred  floating  on  its  surface;  on  the  other, 
huge,  tumbled  boulders  gazed  majestically  down 
on  dainty,  blue  grass-flowers  and  rich,  purple 
convolvulus. 

In  the  rice  fields  beyond  row  on  row  of  women 
labored,  chanting  while  they  worked,  their  red 
garments  in  striking  contrast  with  the  green  of 
the  fields. 

From  this  fair  scene  we  strolled  to  the  mango 
tope  near  our  camping  place,  and  until  darkness 

i8i 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

fell  watched  the  hordes  of  monkeys  which 
romped  unceasingly  among  the  giant  trees. 
These  big  monkeys,  though  amusing  enough  in 
their  tree-homes,  sometimes  descend  in  great  col- 
onies upon  a  village,  and  then  the  destruction  they 
wreak  is  frightful.  In  a  few  minutes  a  roof  has 
its  tiles  completely  off,  or  a  large  rice  field  has 
not  a  dub's  worth  of  rice  left  in  it. 

Another  rushing  day  was  followed  by  another 
walk.  As  we  turned  back  toward  camp  our  path 
led  along  the  high,  narrow  bank  of  the  lake, 
which  on  one  side  sloped  steeply  to  the  water  and 
on  the  other  led  sharply  down  twenty  feet  to  a 
pile  of  rocks  in  the  mango  tope.  As  it  happened, 
all  the  hundreds  of  monkeys  had  decided  to  oc- 
cupy for  the  night  a  tree  that  hung  over  our 
path,  and  when  we,  of  necessity,  passed  beneath 
them  and  so  near  that  we  might  have  touched 
them,  their  rage  was  unbounded.  Amid  the 
screaming  and  chattering  of  all  the  monkey  col- 
ony, ten  or  twelve  large  males  rushed  down  the 
limbs  toward  us  as  if  they  would  tear  us  to  pieces. 
We  knew  that  the  least  sign  of  fear  would  prob- 
ably be  fatal,  so  past  the  blazing,  green  eyes, 
the  fierce,  white  teeth,  and  the  eager,  clawlike 
fingers  almost  at  our  throats,  we  marched  stead- 
ily with  our  heads  high;  but  the  thumping  of  our 
hearts  nearly  choked  us,  and  when  the  danger 

182 


'?fefcj."oiiiu^jiii-r' 


Watering  the  rice-fields 


NEW   CAMPING   GROUNDS 

was  past  we  sat  down  on  the  grassy  bank  white 
and  weak  and  trembhng. 

At  noon,  next  day,  the  jugglers  and  snake- 
charmers  came — Hermanns  without  the  stage- 
settings.  They  produced  rabbits  from  nothing- 
ness; spouted  fire  from  their  mouths;  raised 
mango  trees  before  our  eyes  from  seed  to  fruit; 
and  charmed  their  ghstening  cobra-pets  with  the 
soft  music  of  their  pipes. 

A  babe  of  two  was  with  them,  and  the  bored 
look  on  the  little  face  as  he  twined  a  cobra  or 
python  around  his  tiny  neck  or  pulled  it  about  as 
if  it  were  an  inanimate  toy  was  comical  enough. 

It  was  the  boy  of  twelve  years,  however,  that 
held  our  gaze.  His  gypsy  face,  his  tangled  hair 
falling  low  over  his  shoulders,  a  dirty  turban  set 
sidewise  on  his  saucy  head,  his  ragged  coat  and 
dhoti,  his  nimble  gestures,  his  bright,  impudent 
smile,  and  the  art  in  his  voice  as  he  played  his 
part,  bewitched  us,  and  all  too  soon  he  picked  up 
his  queer,  native  drum  and  strolled  away  in  the 
wake  of  his  masters. 

Two  performing  bullocks,  great,  beautiful 
beasts  with  the  hump  on  the  back  much  enlarged 
by  vigorous  massage  from  their  youth,  enter- 
tained us  for  a  time.  All  decked  with  bright 
ribbons  and  little,  tinkling  bells,  they  chased  play- 
fully about  the  field  after  their  master  and  pre- 

183 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

tended  to  gore  him,  or  made  deep  salaams  to  us 
with  knees  bent  and  with  head  touching  the 
ground. 

As  night  came  on  we  were  about  to  move  away, 
and  already  our  tent  was  packed,  when  our  evan- 
gelist said  the  people  were  begging  us  to  stay 
and  talk  about  our  religion. 

So  down  in  the  moonlight  we  sat,  and  as  far 
as  the  evangelist's  voice  would  reach  were  clus- 
tered men  and  women,  all  listening  eagerly  to 
his  words,  now  and  then  nodding  their  heads  in- 
telligently or  rubbing  their  hands  with  glisten- 
ing eyes  of  assent  to  some  special  point. 

One  of  the  men  came  up  to  us  and  begged  us 
to  take  his  boy  into  our  school.  "Do  you  know," 
he  said,  ''ten  years  ago  white  Padres  came  and 
talked  to  us  of  your  Christ  and  we  all  ran  away 
afraid  of  being  cursed,  and  now  if  we  dared  we 
should  all  be  Christians." 

Then  song  followed  story  and  story  followed 
song,  until  we  thought  they  would  never  be  satis- 
fied. At  last,  one  by  one,  they  straggled  off,  and 
by  midnight  all  were  gone. 

At  Kalvakoontla  a  warm  reception  greeted  us 
from  some  grateful  patients  of  old.  As  these 
"grateful  patients"  happened  to  be  the  chiefs  of 
the  village,  they  filled  the  tent,  and  when,  after 
talking  to  them  awhile,  we  begged  to  be  excused, 

184 


NEW   CAMPING   GROUNDS 

for  hundreds  of  people  were  waiting  outside  for 
medicine,  they  laughed  carelessly:  "Oh,  never 
mind  those  people,  they  can  wait."  Still  we  did 
manage  by  strenuous  endeavor  to  treat  practically 
all  who  came. 

Kalvakoontla  is  a  jagir  village;  that  is,  a  vil- 
lage given  by  the  Nizam  to  some  one  man  for 
services  rendered,  and  all  the  revenues  of  the 
village  are  thenceforward  paid  to  this  favored 
man,  and  all  law  is  in  his  hands.  In  fact,  the 
village  is  a  tiny,  independent  state.  Here  the 
Dacoities  and  other  bad  men  flock,  for  they  are 
beyond  the  reach  of  law  unless  the  owner  of  the 
village  punishes  them,  and  he  has  this  power  only 
if  they  commit  the  crime  in  his  village.  The 
Jagadir  of  Kalvakoontla  was  sick  and  had 
begged  us  to  see  him.  A  kindly  old  graybeard, 
he  lay  comfortably  in  bed  on  his  veranda  hid  by 
vines  from  the  street,  and  talked  to  us  in  a  loud, 
cheerful  voice. 

"I  have  just  a  little  fever;  I  wish  you  would 
send  me  some  medicine,"  he  said,  as  I  felt  his 
pulse. 

"Have  you  had  any  medicines  yet  from  the 
hakims?"  I  asked. 

"Indeed  I  have  not,"  he  replied  emphatically. 
"I'd  rather  die  than  drink  black  men's  medicine," 
and  he  grinned  round  at  the  group  of  "black  men" 

185 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

standing  near,  who  took  no  offense  but  all  grinned 
in  response.  "No,  the  only  medicine  I've  had  is 
cahster  ile  (castor  oil)." 

"All  right,  I  will  send  you  some  medicine.  By 
whom  shall  I  send  it?" 

*'0h,  by  anybody;  these  people  all  belong  to 


me." 


The  love  of  medicine  runs  in  the  Indian's 
veins.  A  naked  baby  of  scarcely  two  years 
peeped  shyly  out  from  behind  his  mother's  skirts 
and  gravely  offered  me  his  hand. 

"He  has  not  been  feeling  well  for  a  few  days," 
said  his  mother.     "He  wants  you  to  feel  his 

pulse." 

As  we  were  leaving  one  of  the  villages,  ten  or 
more  lepers,  in  all  stages  of  the  terrible  disease, 
came  to  the  tent  and  begged  us  to  help  them.  We 
did  what  we  could,  but  our  hearts  ached  at  the 
hopelessness  of  it  all. 

On  the  homeward  journey,  we  passed  through 
a  remarkably  clean  and  attractive  village  made  up 
entirely  of  Brahmans  and  other  very  high-caste 
people.  There  was  an  eclipse  of  the  moon  that 
night  and  the  caste  people,  after  greeting  us  very 
courteously,  asked  us  to  tell  them  about  the 
eclipse  and  its  meaning: 

"In  your  shastras   (science  or  books  of  re- 

J80 


NEW   CAMPING   GROUNDS 

Hgion)  what  evil  does  such  a  thing  as  this  pre- 
dict?   In  ours  thus  and  thus  will  befall." 

We  explained  to  them  the  scientific  theory  of 
the  phenomenon,  but  we  might  as  well  have  held 
our  peace,  for  they  only  looked  at  us  pityingly  as 
if  to  say,  "Is  that  all  you  know  about  it?" 


XXVI 

MAHORRUM 

WHEN  the  great  Mahomedan  feast  of 
Mahorrum  comes  to  an  end,  the  streets 
seem  very  dull  after  all  the  color  and 
crowding  and  jollity. 

The  feast  of  Mahorrum  is  held  in  honor  of  the 
two  sons  of  Mahomet,  Hoseyn  and  Hassan,  who 
were  killed  in  battle.  The  feast  also  gives  Ma- 
homedans  an  opportunity  to  worship  all  dead 
heroes,  and  everywhere  about  the  village  effigies 
made  of  tall  poles  decked  in  gaudy  cloth  and  tin- 
sel represent  these  heroes  and  are  worshiped  as 
saints  or  pirs.  On  the  last  night  of  the  feast 
the  pirs  are  treated  as  real  dead  bodies,  washed 
in  the  lake  for  purification,  dressed  in  proper 
grave  clothes,  and  buried  with  all  ceremony. 

Anybody  who  dies  a  death  of  violence  is  a 
''hero."  An  Arab  who  was  killed  last  year  in  a 
drunken  quarrel  was  one  of  the  heroes  this  year 
and  his  pir  was  worshiped  with  the  rest.  One 
of  the  pirs  was  erected  just  outside  our  compound 
gate,  and  throughout  the  feast  men  and  boys 

1 88 


MAHORRUM 

circled  about  the  pole,  waving  palm  branches 
and  chanting  loudly  in  time  to  odd  Indian  drums, 
"Hoseyn!  Hassan!  Hoseyn!  Hassan!"  over  and 
over  again. 

The  Mahomedans  throw  their  whole  souls  into 
the  celebration;  dress  their  gayest,  and  laugh 
their  jolliest.  Boys  and  girls  in  gold  and  scar- 
let run  through  the  village  bubbling  over  with 
joy;  for  the  streets  are  lined  with  booths  where 
men  sell  the  fruits  and  candy  and  toys  which  can 
be  had  only  at  Mahorrum  time.  Everywhere 
men  and  boys  disguised  as  tigers  or  bears  or 
monkeys  frolic  in  the  midst  of  real  bears  who 
dance  clumsily  at  their  masters'  commands ;  while 
the  drums  keep  up  their  monotonous  ''jinkity- 
jing!  jinkity-jing!"  Besides  the  drums,  music 
of  every  variety  known  to  the  Hyderabad  Indian 
fills  the  air.  One  instrument  is  somewhat  like  a 
bagpipe  in  appearance.  One  pipe  is  placed  in  the 
mouth  of  the  player  and  one  pipe  in  each  of  his 
nostrils,  and  the  sound  is  like  a  flute  accompa- 
nied by  the  humming  of  myriads  of  bees. 

Of  course,  beggars  abound,  religious  and 
otherwise,  among  the  rest  repulsive  devil  priests 
with  long,  matted  hair  and  wild  eyes  whose 
bodies,  splotched  with  green  and  red  and  yellow 
paint  and  powder,  are  saved  from  mother-naked- 

189 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

ness  by  a  scanty  loin  cloth.  Leper  beggars,  too, 
are  there,  half  eaten  by  their  hideous  sores. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  Mahorrum,  in  Hyderabad 
City,  the  procession  of  the  Lungar  takes  place. 

Two  or  three  centuries  ago,  when  the  crown 
prince  of  Golconda  was  hunting  in  the  forest,  his 
elephant  ran  away  with  him  and,  as  the  rescuers 
started  in  pursuit,  the  distracted  queen  vowed 
that,  if  her  son  were  saved,  she  would  give  to  the 
shrine  of  Hoseynji  Allum,  the  most  sacred  in  the 
kingdom,  a  lungar  (the  tethering  chain  which 
encircles  an  elephant's  foot)  of  pure  gold. 

The  son  was  saved  and  on  the  fifth  day  of  Ma- 
horrum the  Royal  Family,  their  vassals  and  re- 
tainers, all  in  gala  attire,  carried  the  golden  lun- 
gar, with  much  pomp  and  ceremony,  to  the  shrine. 
On  every  anniversary  since  there  has  been  held 
the  lungar  procession,  all  the  troops  of  the  Ni- 
zam, regular  and  irregular — about  fifty  thousand 
men — joining  in  the  event. 

The  Irregular  Troops  are  those  of  the  feuda- 
tory princes,  who,  under  a  system  somewhat  like 
the  feudal  tenure  of  old  England,  give  revenue 
and  military  service  in  payment  for  land  held. 

The  Lungar  is  the  greatest  holiday  of  the 
year  in  Hyderabad,  and  the  city  gives  itself  up 
entirely  to  pleasure.  People  from  the  surround- 
ing country  swarm  into  the  place  by  thousands, 

190 


MAHORRUM 

and  the  streets  are  a  mass  of  many-colored  life. 

On  Lungar  day  the  Prime  Minister  is  ac- 
customed to  invite  to  tiffin  two  or  three  hundred 
guests  who  witness  the  parade  from  the  balcony 
of  his  palace.  One  year,  through  the  courtesy 
of  the  chairman  of  our  mission  society,  several 
of  us  received  an  invitation. 

Our  party  was  at  the  palace  in  good  time,  and, 
waiting  for  the  procession,  we  laughed  and 
chatted  with  each  other,  watched  the  gay  crowd 
about  us,  and  felt  no  impatience.  Prince  George 
and  Prince  Conrad  of  Bavaria  were  there,  the 
British  Resident  and  his  family,  and  the  officers 
and  ladies  of  the  Secunderabad  garrison,  besides 
many  of  the  Civil  Service  people,  for  all  the  Hy- 
derabad world  turns  out  for  the  Lungar  pa- 
rade. 

His  Highness,  the  Nizam,  was  not  in  town; 
but  in  the  private  gallery  next  to  us,  which  is  al- 
ways reserved  for  the  Nizam  and  his  family,  sat 
the  royal  children.  The  boys  gaily  frisked  about, 
but  the  girls,  two  mites  of  three  and  five,  sitting 
quietly  on  chairs,  while  their  ayahs  slowly  fanned 
them,  were  charming  pictures  in  green  and  gold 
pajamas  and  slippers  and  long  overdress  of 
sparkling  gauze  reaching  to  the  knee,  with  topeeg 
of  green  and  gold  to  match  the  pajamas. 

In  the  great  courtyard  below,  where  the  pro^ 

191 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

cession  enters,  wheels  and  salutes  the  Nizam  and 
the  Prime  Minister,  the  villagers  were  making 
merry  with  all  sorts  of  buffoonery,  the  Mahor- 
rum  "Tiger"  with  yellow  stripes,  long  tail,  and 
the  mask  of  tiger's  face,  being  a  special  feature, 

Suddenly  the  courtyard  cleared ;  the  procession 
was  drawing  near. 

The  Rocketeers  were  in  advance  and  as  they 
reached  the  saluting  point,  they  discharged  their 
rockets. 

Then  came  a  number  of  elephants,  fantastically 
painted  in  all  sorts  of  color  designs,  with  long 
saddle  cloths  of  velvet  and  cloth  of  gold,  and 
bearing  on  their  backs  carved  howdahs  of  silver 
or  gold  containing  the  princes  of  the  Dominions, 
dressed  in  richest  materials  of  brilliant  coloring, 
often  in  pure  cloth  of  gold. 

One  two-year-old  prince,  sitting  quite  alone  In 
his  howdah,  looked  down  gravely  from  his  ex- 
alted position  as  if  he  fully  understood  the  dig- 
nity of  his  rank,  his  many  jewels  and  his  scarlet 
velvet  coat,  embroidered  in  gold  and  with  a  wide 
gold  border,  flashing  in  the  sunshine,  which  also 
lighted  the  gay  trappings  of  the  horses  and  riders 
of  his  dozens  of  attendants  who  rode  close  beside 
the  elephant  and  watched  anxiously  their  baby 
lord. 

The  Camel  Sowars  followed,  the  camels  richly 

192 


MAHORRUM 

caparisoned  like  the  elephants,  but  their  riders  in 
costume  somewhat  quieter  than  that  of  the  occu- 
pants of  the  howdahs. 

The  well-disciplined  and  smartly  uniformed 
police  force  which  followed  rested  us  slightly  be- 
fore the  Irregular  Troops  burst  into  view,  Bed- 
ouins, Sikhs,  Pathans,  Nubians,  Arabs  and  Af- 
ghans, horse  and  foot,  jumping,  dancing,  howl- 
ing, chanting,  throwing  weapons  into  the  air  or 
discharging  their  guns. 

The  performance  of  the  Arabs  reminded  me  of 
the  Scotch  Highlanders  dancing  the  sword  dance, 
but  the  Arab's  dress  is  rougher,  his  gestures 
wilder,  and  his  yells  more  ferocious. 

Each  body  of  Irregular  Troops  was  com- 
manded by  its  gorgeously  costumed  chief  seated 
in  a  howdah  on  the  back  of  an  elephant  as  splen- 
didly decked  out  as  its  rider.  These  chiefs  were 
preceded  by  a  native  band  of  musicians  whose 
ear-splitting  "music"  and  Dervish  dancing,  with 
drawn  sword  waving  in  air,  added  to  the  excite- 
ment, until  we  grew  almost  dizzy  with  the  never- 
ceasing  whirl  and  light. 

Then  came  the  Regular  British  and  Indian 
Troops,  artillery,  cavalry,  infantry,  all  quiet  and 
soldierly.  The  horsemen  were  splendidly 
mounted  and  their  thin-limbed  Arab  horses 
pranced  and  danced  in  perfect  time  to  the  music 

193 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

of  the  band  playing  old,  familiar  tunes,  ''Swanee 
River,"  "See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes,"  or 
''Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home." 

For  three  hours  the  procession  trooped  past, 
the  leader  of  each  division  stopping  in  front  of 
the  palace,  to  salute  the  Royal  Family  and  the 
Prime  Minister. 

Then  it  was  all  over,  and  we  ate  the  cake  and 
drank  the  tea  of  prosy  modern  life. 


XXVII 
AN   APRIL   HOLIDAY 

BECAUSE  the  Indian  climate  was  fast  sap- 
ping her  strength,  Miss  Richardson  had 
to  leave  us  for  England  and  Miss  Tomble- 
son  and  I  accompanied  her  as  far  as  Bombay. 

On  our  way  we  stopped  at  "Mukti,"  Kedgaon, 
to  see  the  marvelous  w^ork  of  Pundita  Ramabai 
among  the  child  widows  of  India.  A  bullock 
gharri  conveyed  us  quickly  from  the  Kedgaon 
station  to  Mukti,  where  we  were  introduced  to 
Pundita  Ramabai,  a  hazel-eyed,  curly-haired  lit- 
tle woman,  barefooted  and  dressed  in  a  sari  of 
coarse  white  muslin.  After  a  pleasant  chat  with 
the  Pundita  and  her  charming  daughter  Manora- 
mabai,  we  visited  the  various  departments  of  the 
institution. 

Our  next  stop  was  at  Poona  to  see  the  mission 
work  of  the  Sohrabjis,  those  wonderful  sisters 
(children  of  Parsees  converted  to  Christianity) 
who  have  been  so  successful  in  uplifting  their 
countrywomen. 

After  dining  with  Miss  Susie  Sohrabji,  whom 

195 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

I  had  known  in  Philadelphia,  we  called  on  her 
mother  and  her  sister  Mary,  both  of  whom  pos- 
sessed Miss  Susie's  charm  of  manner;  and  this 
family  charm  seemed  communicated  even  to  the 
big,  amber-colored  Persian  cat  who  drew  his 
claws  gently  across  our  hands  in  a  caress  or 
strutted  up  and  down  with  his  plumed  tail  proudly 
erect. 

In  Bombay  we  visited  at  the  first  opportunity 
the  Parsee  "Towers  of  Silence"  on  Malabar  Hill. 

With  morbid  interest  we  watched  the  vultures 
as  they  sat  on  the  top  of  the  white,  rounded  walls, 
waiting,  waiting! 

Then  we  turned  cityward,  gladly  welcoming 
the  sight  of  the  blue  waters  of  the  harbor,  and 
the  exhilarating  touch  of  the  salt  breeze — sure 
enemy  to  gloomy  meditation. 

Our  next  goal  was  Elephanta  Caves.  A  steam- 
boat leaves  Bombay  in  the  morning  for  the  island 
on  which  the  caves  are  situated  and  returns  in 
the  evening;  but  when  we  reached  Apollo  Bunder 
and  saw  the  merry  little  torn-tits  skimming  here 
and  there  through  the  water  we  decided  to  en- 
gage one.  It  was  a  less  easy  task  than  we  had 
imagined,  not,  however,  for  lack  of  boatmen.  At 
the  intimation  that  we  wanted  one  of  their  boats, 
the  men  fairly  swarmed  about  us.  Through  their 
excited  jabber  came  one  persistent,  nasal  whine, 

196 


AN   APRIL   HOLIDAY 

"My  name,  Ibrahim  "jy,  I  your  best  man;  you 
liking  my  boat,  Mem  Sahib!"  until  importunity 
won  the  day  and,  turning  toward  the  owner  of 
the  voice,  we  requested  him  to  prepare  his  boat 
for  us.  And  we  did  not  regret  our  choice,  al- 
though "Ibrahim  jf  made  an  earnest  effort  at, 
not  "highway,"  but  "waterway,"  robbery. 

"You  not  giving  me  more  money,  I  not  taking 
you  to  the  shore,"  he  threatened. 

We  had  been  a  few  years  in  the  Orient,  and 
were  old  hands  at  the  game. 

"Very  well,"  I  laughed,  "this  is  a  jolly  little 
boat;  we  can  stand  it  as  long  as  you  can.  We 
agreed  to  pay  you  so  much  and  just  so  much  will 
we  pay." 

Several  more  of  his  efforts  were  silenced  by 
our  laughing  indifference;  then  he  gave  up  and 
proved  a  good-tempered  and  obliging  pilot. 

As  our  tom-tit  danced  over  the  sun-flecked 
waves  in  the  strong  breeze,  we  filled  our  lungs 
with  the  long  draughts  of  the  salt  sea  air  and 
sang  snatches  of  song  to  pass  the  time;  for  the 
caves  are  seven  miles  out  from  Bombay. 

At  the  island  we  were  besieged  by  small  boys 
who  had  for  sale  beetles  of  a  glistening  blue- 
green  color;  and  tiny,  golden  wood  lice.  Miss 
Richardson  bought  two  or  three  of  the  living 
jewels  for  her  brother's  museum. 

197 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

We  found  the  caves  much  Hke  those  at  EUora, 
only  there  were  fewer  at  Elephanta. 

These  dingy  rock  temples  are  weird  places  with 
the  monster  faces  of  the  stone  gods  peering  out  at 
you  in  the  semi-darkness  from  every  pillar  and 
wall,  like  a  band  of  misshapen  giants  stealing 
upon  you  unaware. 

Refreshing  ourselves  with  ginger  ale  from  a 
small  shop  near  the  caves,  we  started  on  the  long, 
wearisome  walk  in  the  hot  sun,  over  the  wide 
stretches  of  sandy  beach,  broken  here  and  there 
by  a  tall  and  lonely  palm  tree,  toward  the  landing 
of  the  regular  steamboat  to  Bombay. 

Now  came  the  time  of  farewell.  Mrs.  Adkin 
and  the  children  had  come  to  Bombay  previously 
to  take  the  same  steamship  on  which  Miss  Rich- 
ardson was  to  sail;  and  Miss  Tombleson  and  I, 
as  we  watched  the  gallant  ship  plow  her  swift 
way  westward,  felt  desolate  indeed,  for,  in  the 
intimacy  of  lonely  jungle  life  together,  your 
friends  grow  very  dear  to  you. 

Before  leaving  Bombay,  we  called  on  several 
acquaintances  and  visited  in  the  way  of  sight- 
seeing the  Rajabai  clock  tower  and  the  famous 
Victoria  railway  station.  Then,  purchasing  at 
the  large,  well-equipped  Crawford  Market  a  bas- 
ket of  mangoes  and  pineapples  for  the  Medak 
people,  we  began  our  homeward  journey. 

198 


AN   APRIL   HOLIDAY 

At  one  of  the  stations  we  saw  two  entirely  dif- 
ferent types  of  "holy  beggar."  One,  a  wild- 
haired,  fierce-eyed  fakir,  sat  cross-legged  on  the 
platform,  with  his  torturing  hooks  and  knives  and 
bed  of  spikes  beside  him.  The  other  was  an  old 
Sanyasi  or  Brahman,  who  had  reached  the  ''last 
life"  on  earth.  A  look  of  unutterable  peace  was 
on  his  face;  in  his  hand  he  held  an  artistic  little 
brass  begging-bowl;  while  by  his  side  stood  his 
ever-present  disciple. 


XXVIII 

SWADESHI 

IN  Hyderabad,  we  got  but  the  lightest  zephyr 
from  the  Swadeshi  storm  sweeping  over  In- 
dia. ''Szvadeshi"  means  "our  own  coun- 
try." The  Indian  people  in  various  sections  of 
the  land  are  rising  against  their  English  conquer- 
ors, boycotting  English  goods  and  filling  the  mag- 
azines and  newspapers  with  seditious  matter. 

The  chief  instigators  of  the  trouble  seem  to 
be  the  Indian  laborer,  ignorant  and  emotional, 
whose  handicraft  has  been  superseded  by  machin- 
ery, and  his  living  thereby  taken  from  him; 
the  men  who  feel  that  they  have  been  wronged  in 
not  receiving  an  appointment  after  passing  the 

Civil  Service  examinations ;  and  those  who,  from 
selfish  and  corrupt  motives,  rouse  in  young,  in- 
flammable students  a  false  "patriotism." 

It  is  generally  admitted,  however,  that  bad  in- 
dustrial conditions  are  back  of  it  all,  and  these 
conditions  are  daily  growing  worse  and  worse. 
While  salaries  and  incomes  are  fixed  by  iron- 

200 


SWADESHI 

clad  custom,  the  price  of  supplies  and  the  amount 
of  taxes  increase  with  the  advance  of  civilization. 
Of  laborers  the  world  over,  those  of  India  re- 
ceive the  poorest  wage  in  proportion  to  the  cost 
of  living. 

Then,  too,  the  tariff  laws  of  the  Government 
give  no  encouragement  to  home  industries.  It 
naturally  follows  that  the  frequent  "cornering" 
of  necessary  food  supplies,  such  as  wheat  or  rice, 
means  to  thousands  of  families  cruel  hunger  and 
want. 

Much  of  the  trouble  comes  also  from  an  in- 
herent lack  of  ability  in  the  East  Indian  to  over- 
come obstacles.  But  these  obstacles  are  many 
and  great.  Chief  among  them  are,  perhaps,  the 
laws  of  caste  and  of  labor,  fixed  two  thousand 
years  ago  and  to-day  rigidly  adhered  to  by  these 
worshipers  of  ancestors  and  of  past  customs. 
Every  man  must  do  the  same  work  and  in  the 
same  manner  as  his  fathers  have  done.  Should 
he  attempt  improvement — which  he  never  does — 
he  would  be  boycotted.  Each  separate  occupa- 
tion means  a  separate  caste,  and  when  an  Indian 
loses  caste  he  loses  all.  He  is  ruthlessly  thrust 
out  from  his  little  world ;  his  own  family  will  not 
even  speak  to  him;  no  one  of  his  caste  will  eat  or 
drink  with  him;  and  from  everybody  he  meets 
with  nothing  but  curses  and  contempt. 

201 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Another  obstacle  is  the  extreme  ilHteracv  of  the 
Indian.  Of  the  entire  nation,  including  the 
learned  Brahman  class,  more  than  eighty  per 
cent  of  the  men  and  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  the 
women  can  neither  read  nor  write. 

Still  another  obstacle  is  fomid  in  the  fact  that 
two  millions  of  ''holy  beggars"  fasten  their  teeth 
like  vampires  into  the  throat  of  India. 

Then,  also,  the  continuous  heat  of  his  country 
and  the  general  practice  of  endogamy,  together 
with  the  semi-starvation  of  generations,  have  so 
impoverished  the  blood  of  the  Indian  peasant 
that  often  the  mildest  disease — a  disease  to  which 
we  of  the  West  would  give  scarcely  a  second 
thought — conquers  and  kills  him;  he  expects  ill- 
ness and  is  surprised  when  it  does  not  come  to 
him ;  he  looks  forward  with  apparent  equanimity 
to  his  annual  attack  of  dysentery  and  rheumatism 
with  the  rainy  season  and  of  bronchitis  with  the 
winter  season ;  and  when  he  does  fall  sick  he  ex- 
pects death  rather  than  life. 

Besides  all  this,  the  Indian  is  improvidence  per- 
sonified. 

Among  Indian  coolies,  both  husband  and  wife 
are  wage-earners  and  work  equally  hard,  giving 
all  they  have  to  the  support  of  their  families. 
Mr.  Posnett,  trying  to  raise  the  pecuniary  level 
of  the  coolie,  offered,  instead  of  the  universal 

202 


SWADESHI 

twelve  dubs  (three  cents)  a  day  to  the  woman 
and  sixteen  dubs  (four  cents)  to  the  man,  to 
raise  the  woman's  wage  to  sixteen  dubs. 

''AMiat!"  exclaimed  the  men,  "shall  our  wives 
earn  as  much  as  we?  Xo,  indeed!  The  women 
would  soon  become  hardened  with  pride.  Pray 
leave  us  as  we  a*r '"' 

A  man  has  often  refused  to  accept  as  an  inheri- 
tance a  field  of  land  unless  he  can  sell  it  imme- 
diately, ''because,**  he  says.  '*I  have  already  one 
field  to  till:  it  pro\-ides  enough  food  for  mj'self 
and  my  family  when  the  rains  are  good.  An- 
other field  means  extra  work  and  taxes,  and,  if 
there  is  food  for  ::-liy,  why  trouble  about  to- 
morrow?" 

Therefore,  any  !::t'e  :r.i?hap  in  the  weather  is 
tragic.  Too  httle  rain  or  too  much  means  famine 
immediately  and  terrible  suttering :  and  an  empty 
purse  meets  the  grievously  burdensome,  religion- 
compelled  expense — often  a  year's  income — of  a 
wedding,  a  funeral,  or  a  re^i^ious  feast  Money 
musi  be  borrowed  at  from  twelve  to  one  hundred 
per  cenL  \Miat,  then,  can  keep  the  Indian  peas- 
ant from  the  clutches  of  the  merciless  money- 
ler.fer.  and  the  peasant's  child  from  being  sold 
as  : : :  i  servant  or  "slave  of  the  soil"  to  pay  his 
:?  hers  debt?  \Miat  hope  has  he  of  better  days 
to  come  when  his  daily  food  might  be  increased 

203 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

in  quantity  beyond  a  starving  allowance,  and  in 
variety  beyond  rice  or  lentils  or  coarse  grains; 
when  his  house  might  be  built  of  something  more 
substantial  than  mud ;  when  his  furniture  might 
exceed  a  few  cooking  pots ;  and  when  an  increased 
self-respect  might  expel  a  few  millions  of  the 
vermin  of  every  variety  which  infest  with  im- 
punity his  dark  and  suffocating  hut?  How  can 
his  view  of  life  be  other  than  sad-colored;  and,  in 
the  midst  of  his  difficulties,  what  can  he  do  but 
sit  inert  uttering  his  hopeless,  "What  can  I  do? 
If  I  die,  I  die!"  or  kiss  the  white  man's  feet  and 
beg  for  help  ? 

Another  mighty  obstacle  to  the  progress  of  the 
Indian  is  that  he  never  seems  to  learn  wisdom 
from  precept,  example  or  experience. 

I  had  entered  into  conversation  with  one  of 
our  coolies  who  is  more  intelligent  and  progres- 
sive than  most  of  our  working-people.  He  spoke 
of  the  threatened  Russian  invasion  of  India. 

"We  should  not  object  to  the  English  Govern- 
ment," he  added,  "if  it  would  free  us  from  the 
greed  of  the  money  lender.  Usury  is  the  ruin  of 
our  country!"  and  he  brought  his  fist  down  on 
his  knee  with  emphasis. 

A  wild  impulse  seized  me  to  experiment  in  this 
matter. 

"Listen  to  me !"  I  said.    "Let's  try  to  get  rid  of 

204 


SWADESHI 

this  sort  of  thing,  at  least  among  the  people  of 
our  own  compound.  I  will  lend  you  money  when 
you  need  it  and  you  will  pay  me  three  per  cent 
interest  yearly,  the  interest  payments  to  be  made 
monthly,  until,  at  your  own  convenience,  you  pay 
the  principal.  I  will  ask  no  security  and  no  ques- 
tions. Deal  fairly  with  me,  and  I  will  deal  fairly 
with  you!" 

The  coolie  grinned  delightedly. 

"Trust  me.  Honorable  Doctor  Lady !"  he  con- 
cluded. 

The  next  morning  he  came  to  my  door. 

"Honorable  Doctor  Lady,  I  need  ten  rupees. 
According  to  your  suggestion  of  last  evening, 
will  you  lend  me  that  amount?" 

I  gave  him  the  money  and  explained  carefully 
that  he  must,  when  he  received  his  next  month's 
salary,  come  to  me  and  pay  the  interest  on  ten 
rupees  in  cowries  (small  shells,  one  hundred 
and  sixty  of  which  are  worth  one  American 
cent). 

The  story  of  my  unprecedented  philanthropy 
spread  rapidly  throughout  the  compound  and  in 
a  short  time  I  had  lent  the  fifty  rupees  which  I 
had  resolved  to  spend  in  learning  whether  the 
Indian  peasant  could  be  helped  out  of  the  grasp 
of  the  money  lender. 

A  month  passed  and  the  interest  fell  due.    The 

205 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

interest  on  each  rupee  was  less  than  one-twelfth 
of  a  cent,  but  no  interest  appeared.  I  called  sep- 
arately on  each  of  the  people  to  whom  I  had  lent 
the  money  and  asked  them  for  the  small  interest 
due.  Each  one  replied  with  profuse  apologies 
that  he  could  not  pay  the  interest.  Then  to  the 
coolie  I  had  first  helped  I  delivered  a  long  lec- 
ture, telling  him  how  his  dishonest  dealing  with 
me  had  cost  him  more  than  he  realized,  and  how 
he  could  have  no  more  pity  from  me  on  account 
of  the  money  lender's  usury. 

He  listened  respectfully  and  when  I  had  fin- 
ished replied,  "Truly  you  have  spoken.  Honor- 
able Doctor  Lady.  I  have  been  dishonest.  I 
have  not  paid  you  the  interest  as  I  promised,  but 
I  am  your  son,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  refuse  to 
lend  me  ten  more  rupees  which  I  require  to-day." 

All  that  was  months  ago ;  yet  never  have  I  seen 
one  dub  of  principal  or  interest  from  any  of  the 
people  to  whom  I  lent  the  money. 

It  was  after  this  banking  experiment  of  mine 
had  failed  that  on  a  certain  day  one  of  our  house 
servants  came  to  me  weeping  piteously. 

"Honorable  Doctor  Lady,"  he  cried,  "I  can 
bear  this  no  longer.  Every  time  I  pass  the  money 
lender's  door,  he  abuses  me  with  vile  words  be- 
cause I  cannot  pay  him  five  rupees  I  have  bor- 
rowed from  him.     Pray,  pray  give  me  the  five 

206 


SWADESHI 

rupees  that  I  may  pay  my  debt  to  him  and  hold 
my  head  high  among  my  people !" 

I  gave  him  the  five  rupees  and  he  departed 
grinning  widely.  The  very  next  day  the  same 
servant  came  again  to  me. 

"Oh,  Honorable  Doctor  Lady,  the  money- 
lender still  abuses  me.  Pray  give  me  five  rupees 
that  I  may  pay  my  debt  to  him  and  hold  my  head 
high  among  my  people !" 

*'Why,"  I  cried  in  astonishment,  "only  yester- 
day I  gave  you  money  to  cover  the  debt  which 
you  said  was  all  you  owed  him." 

"Truly  you  have  spoken,"  sobbed  the  graceless 
scamp,  whose  alcohol-laden  breath  came  heavily 
to  my  nostrils,  "but  I  spent  that  money  for  to- 
bacco and  other  necessaries,  and  the  money- 
lender still  abuses  me." 

Reverting  to  the  Swadeshi  problem,  you  will 
agree  with  me,  I  think,  that,  considering  the  char- 
acter and  environment  of  the  Indian,  he  seems 
ill  prepared  for  a  successful  revolutionary  move- 
ment against  England. 

When  I  was  in  Calcutta,  I  asked  one  of  the 
most  progressive  and  best  educated  Babus  if  he 
thought  the  Hindus  could,  were  the  Government 
turned  over  to  them,  rule  successfully  their  own 
country. 

"No,"  he  replied  emphatically,  "not  yet.    Our 

207 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Hindu  people  are  too  weak  physically,  mentally, 
and  morally.  We  are  too  diversified  with  our 
hundreds  of  different  castes  and  different  lan- 
guages. The  dissension  and  hatred  among  the 
various  castes  would  be  enough  in  itself  to  pre- 
vent a  Hindu  government  from  being  successful. 
Then,  there  are  the  Mahomedans.  Though  there 
are  five  times  as  many  Hindus  as  Mahomedans 
in  India,  the  Mahomedans  are  physically  strong 
— born  soldiers — and  in  war  they  would  conquer 
us.  The  English  rule  is  just,  far  more  just  than 
Moslem  rule  could  ever  be ;  the  Government  gives 
to  the  Indian  people  many  high  judicial  appoint- 
ments in  the  civil  service,  and  the  lower  class  of 
executive  appointments;  some  of  the  English  peo- 
ple are  very  good  and  kind ;  but  the  English  and 
the  Indian  are  so  different;  they  do  not  under- 
stand each  other — and  the  English  do  not  love 
us" — ^he  smiled  rather  bitterly.  **You  will  under- 
stand better  what  I  mean  if  you  will  notice  the 
concentrated  contempt  of  the  Anglo-Indian  in  his 
utterance  of  those  two  words,  'the  natives.'  " 


XXIX 

TO   THE   HILLS   AWAY 

AT  hot  weather  hoHday  time,  Miss  Wig- 
field,  Miss  Tombleson  and  I  set  off  for 
■  DarjiHng. 
We  had  long  promised  ourselves  a  visit  to  the 
"Marble  Rocks"  of  Jubbelpore,  so  at  Jubbelpore 
station  we  stopped  off  and  began  our  ten-mile 
drive  to  the  "Rocks." 

A  good  driver,  a  speedy  horse,  and  charming 
scenery  made  the  way  seem  short.  Swaying 
bamboo  clumps  formed  long  avenues,  and  groves, 
rich  with  fine  mango  trees,  held  colonies  of  mon- 
keys, gray  and  brown,  which  chattered  at  us  as 

we  passed. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  we  arrived  at  the 
Nerbudda  River  and  our  guide  hurried  out  the 
pleasure  boat  for  the  two-mile  row  between  the 
cliffs  of  pure  marble  fifty  to  eighty  feet  above 
the  narrow  but  "bottomless"  river. 

As  we  climbed  into  the  big  boat,  a  naked  baby 
boy  stumbled  over  the  rocks  behind  us,  sobbing 
jvildly.    On  asking  an  explanation,  we  were  told 

209 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

by  the  boatman  that  the  child  was  his  son  and 
loved  the  boat-ride;  that  he  wept  because  they 
were  leaving  him  behind,  ''fearing  he  might  an- 
noy Your  Honors."  Of  course,  we  told  the  man 
to  bring  the  little  chap  aboard,  and  the  fat  urch- 
in's beaming  smile  as  he  snuggled  down  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat  well  repaid  us. 

Snow  white,  with  streaks  or  splotches  of  red, 
blue,  gray,  black  or  yellow,  the  marble  rocks  glis- 
tened above  us.  On  ledges  of  the  cliff,  ungainly 
baboons  settled  themselves  for  the  night's  sleep, 
their  figures  plainly  outlined  against  the  white  of 
the  marble.  Countless  swallows'  nests  were 
there,  and  bees'  nests  of  enormous  size.  Our 
guide  told  us  how  a  foolish  soldier  had  fired  his 
gun  at  a  bees'  nest,  and  how  the  bees  had  in- 
stantly attacked  him  and  stung  him  to  death,  his 
companion  escaping  only  by  swimming  the  river 
and  running  through  the  woods  at  full  speed,  the 
bees  several  times  almost  conquering  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  row,  where  the  river  narrows 
into  a  cul-de-sac,  we  climbed  out  and  waited  on 
the  shore  for  the  moon  to  appear.  While  we 
scrambled  among  the  boulders  and  picked  up 
specimens  of  the  colored  marbles  lying  all  about, 
the  boatmen  climbed  up  the  hill  and,  building  a 
fire,  sat  down  for  a  good  smoke.  Then  after  an 
hour  of  pitchy  darkness,  which  we  beguiled  by 

2IO 


TO   THE   HILLS   AWAY 

singing,  the  great  round  face  of  the  moon  came 
peeping  over  the  horizon.  Higher  and  higher  it 
rose  and  at  last  smiled  full  on  the  marble  cliffs. 
Oh,  that  transparent  brilliance !  Shall  I  ever  for- 
get it,  or  the  row  back  again  with  the  glittering 
white  walls  of  rock  towering  over  us  and  throw- 
ing off  sparks  like  diamonds  where  the  marble 
was  cut  and  broken? 

In  the  morning  we  visited  the  Jubbelpore 
Thuggee  Jail,  one  of  the  best  known  in  India.  In 
former  years  the  majority  of  the  prisoners  were 
Thugs,  but  the  jail  at  present  holds  criminals  of 
all  kinds,  and  excels  in  the  manufacture  of  tents 
and  carpets. 

A  courteous  English  official  showed  us  over 
the  place.  Every  time  we  came  to  a  set  of  pris- 
oners, they  instantly  placed  their  working  imple- 
ments on  the  ground  and,  squatting  down,  held 
their  open  palms  up  toward  us  until  we  had 
passed.  We  were  told  that  this  was  to  show  the 
absence  of  any  weapon  of  attack. 

We  watched  with  special  interest  the  carpet 
weaving,  and  marveled  as  the  skilful,  swiftly 
moving  brown  fingers  transformed  the  mass  of 
colored  thread  into  a  rug  of  beautiful  design. 

Life  in  a  jail  like  this  must  be  rather  pleasant 
to  the  Indian  laborer  that  is  not  entirely  aban- 
doned to  laziness.     Nobody  is  taxed  beyond  his 

211 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

strength  with  work;  all  have  good  food;  are 
kindly  treated  and  their  caste  prejudices  are  re- 
spected; while  the  sick  are  cared  for  in  a  well- 
equipped  hospital.     The  object  of  the  superin- 
tendent is  to  keep  the  prisoners  up  to  a  certain 
standard  of  weight  and  health,  to  get  the  best 
work  from  them  and  the  least  possible  illness. 
To  an  active  Western  man  the  lack  of  freedom 
would  be  the  greatest  drawback ;  but  the  average 
Indian  is  contented  with  a  room  six  feet  square 
in  any  location.    The  hard  couches  built  up  out  of 
solid  earth  might  also  seem  a  cruelty  to  the  West- 
ern mind,  but  the  Indian  at  home  sleeps  on  the 
mud  floor  of  his  hut.    This  seems  to  be  a  matter 
of  preference,  for,  in  our  hospital,  tape-strung 
cots,  such  as  we  ourselves  slept  on  and  consid- 
ered somewhat  Spartan,  were  provided  for  the 
patients,  but,  in  the  early  morning,  I  often  found 
that  they  had  slipped  from  the  cot  to  the  floor; 
and,  when  I  asked  why,  they  would  answer :  *'The 
cot  is  so  soft,  it  makes  my  bones  ache." 

Here  in  the  jail,  as  at  home,  the  Indian  has  his 
blanket  and  a  little  straw  if  he  wants  it.  The 
unhappiness  of  the  Indian  prisoner  seems  to  come 
solely  from  the  compulsion  to  steady  if  not  hard 
labor;  and  in  his  absence  from  his  family. 

Leaving  Jubbelpore,  we  came  one  evening  at 
sunset  to  the  Sakrigali   Ghat  and  the  Ganges 

212 


Tree  ferns  of  India 


TO   THE   HILLS   AWAY 

River.  That  sunset  was  one  of  the  most  impos- 
ing I  had  ever  seen,  the  whole  western  sky  a 
glory  of  pink  and  purple,  scarlet  and  gold. 

Facing  the  lurid  light  the  many  ''Faithful"  on 
board  the  steamer — gray-bearded  men,  young 
lads  and  little  boys — knelt  side  by  side  on  the  big 
deck  and  went  through  their  elaborate  evening 
supplication  to  Allah. 

Odd-looking,  square-sailed  boats  floated  on  the 
Ganges,  and  everywhere  along  the  shore  hun- 
dreds of  Hindus  bathed  in  the  sacred  river. 

At  Siliguri,  where  the  real  ascent  of  the  moun- 
tain begins,  the  little  Darjiling-Himalayan  Rail- 
way train  waited  to  take  us  and  hundreds  of 
other  people  up  to  the  cloudland  above,  and  soon 
the  diminutive  locomotive  was  looping,  circling, 
and  zigzagging  in  the  most  perplexing  manner 
as  it  pulled  us  slowly  up  the  mountain-track. 

The  forests  were  filled  with  beauties  and  won- 
ders, lemon,  orange,  and  fig  trees,  orchids,  mighty 
bamboos,  and  the  famous  tree-ferns,  which  fre- 
quently reached  as  high  as  a  two-story  house, 
each  frond  being  six  feet  or  more  in  length. 
Then  gradually  we  came  to  the  plant-life  of  a 
cooler  zone,  the  laurel,  magnolia,  geranium,  the 
oak,  and  the  chestnut,  and,  everywhere,  the  white, 
the  silver,  and  the  scarlet  rhododendrons  made 

213 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

the  world  delightful  with  their  rose-like  blossom 
and  lemon  fragrance. 

One  of  the  most  amazing  sights  in  these  damp, 
moss-covered  woodlands  was  the  ''strangler,"  a 
climbing  tree  which  winds  about  some  straight- 
growing  tree,  and  slowly  chokes  it  to  death  and 
crumbling  ruin,  the  spiral,  empty  sheath  of  the 
deadly  parasite  telling  the  doom  of  its  victim. 

Our  eyes  searched  vainly  through  the  dense 
woods  for  any  sign  of  the  wild  animals  which  are 
said  to  abound  in  these  forests,  when  suddenly 
Miss  Wigfield  called  out,  "O  girls,  look!  An  ele- 
phant!" Quickly  scrambling  to  Miss  Wigfield's 
side,  we  eagerly  gazed  out  but  saw  immediately 
the  joke  that  had  been  played  upon  us  and  joined 
in  Miss  Wigfield's  laugh  at  our  expense.  A  tame 
elephant  with  children  playing  fearlessly  about 
him  lazily  swayed  from  side  to  side  in  the  door- 
yard  of  a  mountain  hut,  while  with  a  young  tree 
which  he  had  pulled  up  by  the  roots  and  now 
grasped  firmly  in  his  trunk,  he  scratched  his  thick 
hide  with  seeming  deep  content. 

At  Kurseong  we  thrilled  with  travel  enthusi- 
asm to  know  we  were  but  nineteen  miles  from 
mysterious  Thibet. 

As  we  climbed  higher  and  higher,  the  white 
purity  of  the  cloud  wreaths  on  the  mountainside 
stood  out  strongly  against  the  green  of  the  forest, 

214 


TO   THE   HILLS   AWAY 

and,  as  we  neared  Darjiling,  the  mountain  folk, 
with  Alongolian  features  and  sunny  smile,  gath- 
ered at  every  station  to  offer  the  tourists  irre- 
sistible yellow  raspberries  in  fresh  green  leaf 
baskets,  irresistible,  indeed,  when  offered  by  the 
children,  who  seemed  to  me  especially  attractive, 
not  with  the  cherubic  beauty  of  the  Kashmiri 
child  but  with  the  engaging  drollery  of  a  Japan- 
ese doll,  with  almond  eyes  and  tiny  mouth  pursed 
tight. 


XXX 

DARJILING 

COOLIES  by  the  score  rushed  up  to  us  at 
the  Darjiling  station,  and  we  gazed  in 
wonder  while  our  baggage  was  strapped 
to  the  backs  of  the  apple- faced  women,  squat  and 
sturdy;  the  pack  supported  by  a  strap  passing 
across  the  forehead,  so  that  the  strain  came 
mostly  on  the  neck  and  shoulder  muscles.  Two 
steamer  trunks,  a  Gladstone  bag  on  top,  and  a 
large  basket  in  one  hand  was  an  ordinary  load. 
One  woman  carried  a  small  upright  piano,  bend- 
ing almost  to  the  ground  beneath  her  burden. 
The  women  are  evidently  schooled  to  this  from 
earliest  childhood,  for  even  the  toddling  babes 
had  each  its  little  pack  to  carry. 

The  people  of  Darjiling  are  a  rare  mixture. 
It  is  the  summer  home  of  the  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor of  Bengal,  and  there  is  a  large  British  pop- 
ulation, among  whom  we  made  many  pleasant  ac- 
quaintances. But  the  natives  of  Darjiling  far 
exceed  the  whites  in  number.  All  these  moun- 
taineers are  of  the  Mongolian  type:   the  lazy, 

216 


DARJILING 

jolly,  honest  Lepchas ;  the  cruel  and  quarrelsome, 
but  hard-working  Bhuteas;  the  small-headed, 
cringing  Thibetans;  and  the  nobler  people  from 
Nepaul,  of  whom  the  Ghoorkas,  probably  the  best 
soldiers  in  the  world,  form  the  highest  class.  All 
wear  long,  loose,  cloak-like  garments,  belted  in 
at  the  waist,  and  the  women  are  loaded  with 
heavy  jewelry,  the  turquoise  being  predominant. 
All  seem  possessed  of  playful  good  humor  and 
physical  strength  and  courage,  strikingly  differ- 
ent from  the  gravity  and  timidity  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  plains.  Even  the  children  are  fear- 
less. On  our  mountain  climbs  we  frequently  saw 
the  sprightly  little  ones  playing  about  like  kittens 
on  the  very  edge  of  frightful  precipices.  I  shall 
not  easily  forget  the  sick  horror  that  filled  me 
when,  climbing  up  a  path,  I  rounded  a  curve  and 
saw,  some  yards  away,  a  child  about  two  years 
old,  leaning  forward  and  far  over  an  unguarded 
clifif  which  fell  away  some  three  hundred  feet  to 
the  rocks  below.  But  the  baby's  mother  gazed 
placidly  at  him  from  a  short  distance  away,  and, 
long  before  I  could  reach  him,  the  child  turned 
and  toddled  back  to  the  maternal  arms.  Guar- 
dian angels,  must,  I  think,  be  kept  fully  occupied 
on  these  mountaintops. 

Our  "boy,"  Paulmung,  was  a  Lepcha,  of  ex- 
pansive smile  and  explosive  utterance.     When 

217 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Paulmung  made  the  simplest  remark,  we  were 
invariably  startled  as  if  a  child  had  sprung  from 
hiding  and  shouted,  ''Boo!"  But  his  innocent 
face,  giving  no  indication  of  any  attempt  at  fri- 
volity, allayed  our  suspicions,  and  we  com- 
manded ourselves  in  time  to  make  a  dignified 
response. 

There  are  several  good  English  schools  in 
Darjiling,  and  the  climate  agrees  so  well  with 
the  Western  children  that  the  schools  have  a 
large  attendance  of  rosy-cheeked  boys  and  girls, 
bright-eyed  and  energetic,  who  form  a  marked 
contrast  to  the  pale,  hollow-eyed,  listless  English 
children  of  the  plains. 

One  of  the  attractions  of  Darjiling  is  the  ba- 
zaar where  the  weekly  market  is  held.  There, 
among  the  laughing,  tumultuous  throng,  one 
may  see  every  product,  human  and  otherwise, 
of  these  mountains.  Especially  interesting  to  us 
was  the  "butterflyman's"  box  of  Nature's  jew- 
els, for  there  are  about  five  thousand  varieties 
of  butterflies  and  moths  in  the  Darjiling  Dis- 
trict, many  of  gorgeous  beauty.  Perhaps  the 
mountain  air  made  us  almost  as  much  interested 
in  the  luscious  papois,  a  kind  of  melon,  which 
we  would  carry  home  by  armfuls,  always  to  find 
on  eating  them  that  we  had  not  brought  enough. 

Snowy  mountain  peaks  extended  all  around 

218 


DARJILING 

us,  but  they  were  often  obscured  by  the  rain 
clouds  which  are  thick  at  that  time  of  year,  and 
it  was  many  days  after  our  arrival  before  we 
saw  Mt.  Kinchinjunga,  which,  when  not  dimmed 
by  clouds,  is  the  glory  of  Darjiling  scenery. 

The  hope  of  seeing  Kinchinjunga  by  the  sun- 
rise light  lured  us  to  a  night  excursion  up  Mt. 
Senchal,  a  fine  viewpoint.  At  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning  we  started  off  for  the  long,  dark 
walk. 

On  the  top  of  Senchal  we  crouched  down  be- 
hind a  low  wall  to  avoid  the  bitterly  cold  wind, 
and  waited  for  the  sunrise.  As  the  light  grew 
in  the  east,  we  peered  forth  from  our  protecting 
wall  to  see  if  the  day  were  clear.  Not  a  cloud 
in  the  sky,  and  the  light  grew  and  grew,  till 
the  far-reaching  snow  line  burst  upon  our 
vision !  Mt.  Everest  was  there,  but  the  one  hun- 
dred miles  of  distance  reduced  his  imperial 
height  until  we  could  not  surely  distinguish  him 
from  among  the  many  other  thumb- tips  of  snow 
which  he  resembled.  But  Kinchinjunga!  Su- 
perbly proud,  supremely  fair,  she  rose  above 
them  all!  Silent,  awestruck,  we  watched  while 
great  bands  of  color  heralded  the  sun.  One  by 
one  they  covered  the  mountains  until  the  majes- 
tic, cleft  peak  of  Kinchinjunga,  and  even  her 
glaciers  and  icy  crags,  were  plainly  visible.   Rose 

219 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

pink,  clear  gold,  rich  purple,  they  glowed;  then, 
softly,  softly,  lavender,  silver  gray,  delicate 
amber,  and  the  faint  blush  of  the  apple  blossom. 
Now  over  the  mountains  came  the  sun  exulting 
in  his  handiwork  and  smiling  proudly  down  on 
those  loved  children  of  his,  who,  of  all  on  earth, 
lie  nearest  to  his  heart,  until  they  flashed  back  at 
him  such  radiant  glances  that  we  turned  away 
with  dazzled  eyes. 

In  making  the  homeward  trip,  we  took  a 
shorter  but  rougher  path  down  the  mountainside 
through  woods  where  were  orchids  by  the  hun- 
dreds hanging  among  the  limbs,  and  where  the 
continuous  dampness  had  so  clothed  the  trunk 
and  branches  of  every  tree  with  moss  that  it 
seemed  a  great  forest  of  nothing  but  moss  and 
orchids. 

As  we  came  out  into  the  highway,  we  saw 
fluttering  in  the  wind,  from  the  branches  of  the 
trees,  hundreds  of  Buddhist  prayer  papers,  short, 
thin  strips  of  paper  in  block  type  which  are  hung 
on  trees  so  that  the  wind  may  blow  the  senti- 
ment to  heaven.  All  the  prayers  have  one  word- 
ing, ''Om,  Manx  Padme,  0ml"  which,  translated, 
is,  ''Hail  to  the  Holy  One  whose  jewel  is  the 
Lotus!  Hail!"— the  ''Holy  One"  meaning 
Buddha. 

Reasoning  that  the  prayers  would  be  wafted 

220 


DARJILING 

upward  just  as  well  if  a  few  of  the  papers  were 
In  our  private  possession,  we  climbed  the  bank 
and  brought  away  a  handful  of  the  curious 
strips. 

We  sought  out  the  Bhutea  Bhusti  (village), 
where  the  temples  of  the  Thibetan  lamas  are  lo- 
cated. The  first  sight  that  greeted  us  was  the 
prayer-pole  of  the  Buddhist.  These  poles  were 
numerous  throughout  the  settlement  with  their 
fluttering  paper  rags  which  are  supposed  to  keep 
away  the  evil  spirits.  The  clownish  lamas,  not 
in  the  least  resembling  Kim's  gentle,  dignified, 
old  saint,  show  you  their  treasures  with  childish 
delight:  the  dirty  idol,  dressed  in  cheap  tinsel, 
the  great  chair,  with  torn,  soiled  covering,  on 
which  sits  the  Grand  Lama,  and  the  trumpet 
made  of  a  dead  lama's  thigh  bone  hollowed 
out  and  one  end  pasted  over  with  tissue  pa- 
per. We  gazed  with  more  interest  at  the  col- 
lection of  ancient  Sanscrit  writings  wrapped 
carefully  in  cloths,  and  at  the  ponderous  "Wheel 
of  Life." 

In  the  vestibule  were  two  or  three  large 
prayer  wheels,  cylinders  mounted  on  long  sticks 
and  filled  with  prayer  papers.  The  lamas  turn 
these  wheels  rapidly,  a  bell  sounding  at  each 
revolution,  and  repeat  monotonously,  but  with 
a  wide  grin,  "Om,  Mani  Padme,  Om!"  We  gave 

221 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

the  first  lama  a  fee  for  saying  his  prayers  for  us, 
but  when  all  the  other  lamas  rushed  up  and 
begged  us  to  pay  them  for  saying  their  prayers, 
we  refused. 

Climbing  up  the  hill  again  to  Darjiling  proper, 
we  stopped  to  watch  the  people  weaving,  with 
their  simple,  hand-made  tools,  the  strong  Thi- 
betan cloths  which  are  highly  prized  throughout 
India. 

Desiring  to  see  at  close  range  a  tea  garden, 
we  visited  "Happy  Valley,"  one  of  the  many  tea 
gardens  of  the  district.  Captain  Keble,  the 
genial  proprietor,  took  us  through  the  plantation, 
showing  us  the  garden  and  the  up-to-date  fac- 
tory, and  making  the  various  processes  clear 
to  us. 

Before  we  finally  left  Darjiling,  we  had  sev- 
eral more  glimpses  of  Kinchinjunga  from  various 
points,  one  with  the  brilliant  moonlight  full  on 
the  snows— a  vision  ineffably  sublime  and  so  far 
above  our  horizon  that  it  seemed  more  of  heaven 
than  of  earth. 

On  our  journey  down  to  the  plains  we 
all,  with  one  accord,  voiced  Mr.  Ruskin's  sen- 
timent : 

"The  mountains  seem  to  have  been  built  for 
the  human  race,  as  at  once  their  schools  and  ca- 

222 


DARJILING 

thedrals;  full  of  treasures  of  illuminated  manu- 
script for  the  scholar,  kindly  in  simple  lessons 
for  the  worker,  quiet  in  pale  cloisters  for  the 
thinker,  glorious  in  holiness  for  the  wor- 
shiper." 


XXXI 

HOSPITAL   LIGHTS   AND    SHADES 

WE  were  at  dinner  in  the  Medak  bun- 
galow when  there  stepped  into  the 
room  a  tall  figure.  His  right  thumb, 
severed  near  the  wrist  save  for  half  an  inch  of 
skin,  hung  loosely  from  his  hand,  the  blood 
spouting  fiercely.  He  was  so  smeared  with  blood 
that  until  he  spoke  I  did  not  recognize  him  as  our 
own  Arab  peon,  Ibrahim,  usually  the  most  im- 
maculate and  dandified  of  fellows.  In  a  drunken 
quarrel,  his  father  had  struck  at  his  heart  with 
a  sword.  With  upraised  arm,  Ibrahim  had 
warded  the  blow,  and,  although  he  had  saved 
his  life,  he  had  received  several  severe  gashes. 
As  I  rushed  him  to  the  hospital  for  treatment,  the 
father  ran  up  and  begged  me  to  make  his  child 
well! 

Ibrahim's  thumb  soon  became  as  good  as  new 
except  for  a  slight  stiffness,  though  I  fear  he 
still  disobeys  the  Prophet's  teachings  in  regard 
to  alcoholic  beverages. 

Every  day  the  unyielding  rigidity  of  the  caste 

224 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

system  was  thrust  upon  us.  Narsamma,  an  old 
beggar  woman  of  the  goldsmith  caste,  one  of 
the  highest,  fell  and  broke  her  leg,  terribly 
lacerating  the  flesh.  She  was  brought  to  us  with 
the  wound  in  the  shocking  condition  usually 
found  in  the  East — plastered  over  with  cowdung 
poultices  and  riddled  with  maggots.  The  poor 
creature's  system  had  become  so  saturated  with 
the  poison  that  she  was  too  ill  to  hold  up  her 
head.  Her  caste  people  who  had  brought  her  to 
us  promised  to  provide  her  with  food,  as  we 
knew  she  would  take  nothing  from  our  Christian 
hands.  For  a  few  days  all  went  well,  then  her 
erstwhile  caste  friends  said:  "We  have  done 
enough  for  her;  she  is  nothing  to  us,"  and  they 
refused  to  bring  more  food.  When  I  told  her 
she  would  die  unless  she  would  accept  food  from 
us,  she  replied  simply :  "I  cannot  break  my  caste." 
So  we  sent  messengers  to  Medak  begging  the 
village  goldsmith  to  give  us  food  for  the  sick 
old  woman.  In  this  way  we  succeeded  in  getting 
enough  for  her  and  Narsamma  became  well  and 
fairly  strong. 

Two  months  later  she  came  back  to  us,  plump 
and  smiling,  to  bring  us  a  thank-offering  of  rice 
and  flowers. 

A  lovely  young  girl  led  her  mother  into  our 
hospital  courtyard.     It  was  pitiful   to  see  the 

225 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

elder  woman's  panic  and  terror  and  to  hear  her 
shrieks:  "Oh,  the  dreadful  white  faces!  The 
dreadful  white  faces!  I  am  afraid!"  But  the 
daughter  smilingly  soothed  her,  saying:  "Don't 
be  afraid,  little  Mother!  They  won't  hurt  you; 
they  will  make  you  well."  At  last  we  learned  the 
trouble.  The  mother  was  suffering  from  a  hor- 
rid cancer  of  the  breast.  It  had  been  neglected 
so  long  that  it  required  very  careful  treatment, 
and  after  an  operation  I  kept  the  patient  in  the 
hospital  for  several  weeks.  During  that  time 
she  learned  to  love  and  trust  us.  About  four 
years  later,  this  same  woman  staggered  into  the 
dispensary,  looking  so  wan  and  sad  that  my  heart 
sank,  for  I  felt  sure  the  dreadful  disease  had  re- 
turned. 

"No,"  she  said,  showing  me  the  straight, 
clean  scar  where  the  cancer  had  been,  "I  have 
not  come  for  your  medicine  but  for  your  love," 
and  she  threw  herself  into  my  arms  and  wailed 
out  her  sorrow. 

Her  daughter,  while  performing  some  simple 
household  task,  had  suddenly  dropped  dead.  We 
remembered  well  the  gentle,  beautiful  girl,  and 
we  grieved  with  the  heartbroken  mother.  This 
high-caste  Hindu  woman  had  walked  alone 
twenty-two  miles  through  the  jungle,  fording 
deep  streams  and  braving  the  hot  sun  and  the 

226 


Medak  Zevana  Hospital,  prayer  corner,  surgical  ward. 
Dr.  Munson  with  patients. 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

wild  beasts,  simply  that  she  might  hear  us  tell 
her  that  we  loved  her  and  were  sorry  for  her. 

I  had  heard  much  in  the  West  of  the  oriental 
lepers  who  kept  a  distance  between  themselves 
and  the  rest  of  the  world  by  their  cry,  "Unclean! 
Unclean!"  but  in  India,  though  a  man  be  posi- 
tively falling  to  pieces  with  leprosy  and  yet  have 
money  enough,  many  a  girl  is  glad  to  marry  him. 
Almost  every  day  I  treated  lepers  at  our  hospital, 
and  I  never  noticed  the  slightest  shrinking  on 
the  part, of  their  friends  who  had  come  with 
them. 

A  leper  woman,  the  wife  of  the  richest  man 
in  Ramyanpett,  came  to  our  hospital;  her  at- 
tendance was  of  the  best,  her  palanquin  of  the 
most  luxurious,  and  her  silks  and  jewels  of  the 
choicest,  all  this  in  sad  contrast  to  her  face  eaten 
away  with  the  dreadful  disease,  the  blurred  eyes, 
the  ulcerating  hands  and  feet,  the  awful  stench 
of  leprosy  uncleansed.  Even  as  these  thoughts 
came  to  me,  she  stepped  forward;  and,  salaam- 
ing, embraced  me  heartily.  I  succeeded  in  my 
effort  not  to  shrink  from  her,  but,  like  Lady 
Macbeth,  I  felt  that  not  even  the  "perfumes  of 
Araby"  could  ever  make  me  quite  clean  again. 

As  I  heard  her  story  of  distress  and  discour- 
agement, my  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  my  throat 
ached  with  a  longing  to  weep  with  her;  never- 

227 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

theless,  I  could  but  marvel  at  her  companions, 
as  they  sat  beside  her,  one  with  her  arms  about 
the  leprous  woman's  neck  and  the  other  resting 
against  her  knee,  fanning  her  vigorously,  neither 
seeming  to  mind  in  the  least  the  close  contact 
with  the  unfortunate  creature. 

The  prevalence  of  hydrophobia  among  the 
pariah  dogs  gives  rise  to  many  cases  of  this  ter- 
rible disease  in  the  village  people ;  but,  with  their 
usual  fatalism  and  lack  of  imagination  in  regard 
to  the  future,  the  wound  caused  by  the  bite  of  a 
dog  suffering  from  rabies  is  carelessly  treated, 
if  it  be  not  altogether  neglected. 

One  of  our  coolies,  a  lad  of  thirteen,  when 
bitten  by  a  mad  dog,  cauterized  the  wound  with  a 
burning  torch  and  told  nobody  about  it.  A  month 
later,  his  mother  brought  him  to  us  in  the  last 
stages  of  hydrophobia.  She  was  a  widow  and 
he  her  only  son.  In  the  West  that  would  mean 
much,  but  in  India  it  is  all;  the  son  provides 
for  his  parents  in  their  old  age,  and  is  the  one 
being  who  can  pray  their  souls  into  paradise  after 
death.  I  told  the  mother  as  gently  as  I  could 
that  her  boy  would  live  but  a  few  hours  longer. 
She  gazed  at  me  a  moment  before  she  compre- 
hended. Then,  with  a  look  of  the  wildest  anguish 
and  before  any  of  us  could  prevent  her,  she 
rushed  to  the  side  of  the  struggling,  panting 

228 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

victim  of  rabies,  and  placed  her  arm  over  his 
frothing  mouth.  Again  and  again  he  savagely- 
bit  the  limb.  The  poor  mother  shrieked  with 
hysterical  laughter  at  the  sight  of  the  dripping 
blood;  and  so,  laughing  and  sobbing,  beating  her 
breast  and  tearing  handfuls  of  hair  from  her 
head,  she  was  led  away  by  the  village  friends  who 
had  come  with  her.  I  had  begged  them  to  let 
me  treat  her  wounds,  but  they  refused,  saying: 
''Why  should  she  live?  Will  there  be  aught  in 
life  for  her  when  her  only  son  is  dead?"  While 
my  professional  spirit  urged  me  to  save  her  life, 
my  woman's  heart  told  me  they  had  spoken  well. 
But  hospital  scenes  are  not  all  so  darkly  shaded. 
One  day  a  palanquin  came  swinging  into  the 
compound  on  the  shoulders  of  four  bearers, 
chanting  as  they  walked. 

A  young  princess  from  Hyderabad  had  come 
for  medical  treatment.  Her  costume  of  silks  and 
velvets  and  jewels  brought  out  strongly  her  East- 
ern beauty ;  and  her  tall,  handsome  husband,  rid- 
ing beside  her  on  a  spirited  Arabian  horse, 
added,  in  his  splendid  costume,  just  the  right 
finishing  touch  to  the  picture.  The  moment  I 
saw  the  hegum  with  her  shy  smile  I  loved  her; 
and  I  shall  not  soon  lose  the  memory  of  her 
charming  manners  and  affectionate  gratitude. 
When  she  laid  her  head  on  my  shoulder  in  a  fare- 

229 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

well  embrace,  she  said :  "In  Hyderabad  they  told 
me  that  the  foreigners  would  kill  me.  I  an- 
swered: *I  have  seen  their  smiling  faces;  they 
would  kill  no  one/  Still  I  was  afraid  until  I 
felt  your  loving  arms  about  me.  Now,  behold! 
I  am  well  and  strong.  Chee!  (snapping  her 
fingers  in  the  air)  I  am  not  dead.  I  am  full  of 
life  and  happy,  happy!" 

The  begum  before  she  left  us  paid  well  for 
her  treatment,  and  a  few  days  later  an  immense 
basket  of  fine  Hyderabad  fruits  came  for  the 
Mem  Sahibs.  Not  all  the  thank-offerings  of  the 
Indian  people  were  so  acceptable.  Sometimes 
they  would  put  a  strong-smelling,  oily  brown 
perfume  on  a  bit  of  cotton  and  stuff  it  in  our 
ears  or  smear  it  over  our  fresh  shirtwaists  till  we 
were  sights  to  behold.  Sometimes  they  would 
take  a  rose  or  other  flower  and,  breaking  off  the 
stem  to  within  an  inch  of  the  petals,  fasten  it  be- 
hind our  ears  or  inside  our  neckbands. 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-three  miles  by  train 
and  jungle  cart,  the  daughter  of  a  rich  merchant 
had  come  to  Medak  to  receive  our  treatment; 
for,  two  years  ago,  when  she  was  in  great  peril, 
God  had  given  her  life  at  our  hands.  This  time 
the  peril  was  more  to  her  unborn  child  than  to 
her. 

"Why  doesn't  the  doctor  do  this  and  this?" 

230 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

whispered  the  patient's  friends,  naming  the  in- 
cantations and  barbarous  procedures  common  in 
such  cases,  or  ''The  doctor  will  kill  her,  let  us 
take  her  away,"  and  the  like,  but  through  it  all 
came  the  gray-haired  mother's  trembling,  half- 
doubting  tones,  "No,  no;  she  saved  my  child  be- 
fore ;  let  us  trust  her  now" — and  then  came  the 
blissful  moment  when  the  nurse  placed  a  fine 
baby  boy  very  much  alive  in  the  arms  of  the 
rapturous  grandmother. 

With  a  great  clanking  of  jewels  and  rustle  of 
fine  fabrics,  Kulsimbhi's  family  entered  the  hos- 
pital, Kulsimbhi  carried  gently  in  their  midst. 
Her  left  ankle,  swollen  to  four  times  its  natural 
size,  was  tairly  riddled  with  maggots,  and  she 
was  extremely  emaciated  and  dangerously  weak. 

While  we  discussed  her  case,  the  pahn  boxes 
were  opened  and  all  set  to  chewing  on  the  pahn 
(a  betel  leaf  filled  with  betel  nut,  cardamom, 
pepper  leaf,  and  lime  of  the  mussel  shell,  all 
folded  into  a  tiny  packet  fastened  with  cloves). 

I  feared  Kulsimbhi  might  lose  her  foot  alto- 
gether, but  careful  examination  showed  there 
was  hope  of  saving  it.  After  the  operation, 
she  felt  so  much  better  that  for  many  minutes 
she  laughed  and  wept  for  joy,  declaring  that  our 
name  should  "spread  over  the  earth  in  its  great- 


ness." 


231 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

The  foot  healed  at  last  and,  though  Kulslmbhi 
was  still  very  weak,  I  felt  that  she  could  be 
safely  discharged  from  the  hospital. 

Months  later,  she  came  again  to  see  us,  and  I 
should  never  have  guessed  that  the  brisk,  young, 
bejeweled  beauty,  who  tripped  lightly  into  the 
courtyard,  her  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  black 
with  antimony,  her  forehead  and  cheeks  yellow 
with  saffron  specked  with  gold  leaf,  and  her 
nails  red  with  henna,  was  the  sad-eyed,  tired 
little  Kulsimbhi  of  former  days.  She  was  plump 
and  good  to  look  upon  and  her  foot  was  abso- 
lutely well,  the  only  sign  of  the  old  disease  being 
the  white  scar  line  left  by  my  knife. 

My  heart  was  especially  glad  when  I  could 
discharge,  "cured,"  one  of  my  worst  hospital 
cases,  a  Mahomedan  boy  who,  falling  from  a 
tree,  had  suffered  severe  concussion  of  the  brain. 
He  had  been  unconscious  for  three  days  when 
he  was  brought  to  me,  and  such  a  bruised, 
swollen  head!  Many  a  sleepless  night  hour  I 
spent  in  my  anxiety  over  him;  but  slowly  im- 
provement set  in;  a  smile  came  to  his  mother's 
eyes,  red  and  sunken  with  constant  weeping; 
and  three  weeks  after  he  came  to  us  he  was  as 
dear  and  bright  a  twelve-year-old  as  you  could 
have  found  in  Medak.  I  called  him  "Chota 
Sepoy"   (little  soldier)  because  whenever  I  en- 

232 


The  country  cart  stopping  at  Medak  Hospital 


Medak  touring  outfit 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

tered  the  room  he  would  rise  with  a  smile  and  a 
most  military  salute,  "Salaam,  Mem  Sahib !" 

As  his  family  left  us  for  their  village,  fifteen 
or  twenty  miles  away,  his  mother  drew  her  hands 
softly  over  my  cheeks,  in  a  pretty,  Indian  form 
of  caress. 

''When  I  started  to  bring  my  boy  to  you," 
she  said,  "all  the  village  people  cried:  'He  is 
dying;  if  you  take  him  to  the  foreigners  they 
will  kill  him  more  quickly,  that  is  all.  Their 
medicine  is  not  for  us!'  but  I  brought  him  in 
faith,  and  now,  behold!  I  will  show  the  village 
people  what  you  have  done  and  will  say :  'See  my 
boy!  Did  the  foreigners  kill  him?  Did  they? 
No,  they  are  more  kind,  more  tender  than  a 
mother!" 

But  it  is  useless  to  make  a  reputation  in  India. 
A  few  weeks  after  this  some  people  who  had 
heard  of  the  boy's  cure  brought  us  an  old  lady 
of  eighty  who  had  broken  her  hip  two  years 
ago  and  had  not  walked  since,  and  a  boy  born 
deaf  and  dumb,  for  "Thou  art  like  unto  Allah," 
they  said  with  bowed  heads  and  clasped  hands. 
"Even  the  dead  rise  at  thy  touch." 

Baby  Prema  Divanna  had  been  a  pet  through- 
out the  compound  ever  since  her  history  began. 

Before  her  birth,  her  mother,  a  Brahman 
woman  of  middle  age,  came  to  the  hospital  ac- 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

companied  by  a  white-haired  Brahman  widow, 
her  adoptive  mother,  who  told  us  that  ever  since 
her  adoption  the  younger  woman  had  been  in 
disgrace  of  one  kind  or  another,  and  she  now 
wished  to  hide  the  illegitimacy  of  her  child, 
whose  father  was  a  temple  priest.  Notwith- 
standing all  this,  the  old  woman  waited  as  pa- 
tiently and  tenderly  on  the  selfish,  whining 
creature  as  an  own  mother  might  have  done. 

One  evening  as  the  orthodox  Brahman  widow, 
shivering  in  the  chilly  air,  with  her  one  thin 
white  garment  drawn  closely  about  her,  crouched 
in  the  corner  of  the  hospital  veranda  that  had 
been  set  apart  for  her,  we  ventured  sympathy: 
"We  are  very  sorry  all  this  trouble  has  come  to 
you  and  made  you  sad." 

*'To  me,"  she  replied  with  a  patient  gesture, 
"is  no  happiness  and  no  sadness.  I  merely  exist." 

She  told  us  then  that  the  ten  children  who  had 
been  born  to  her  had  died  and  that  she  and  her 
husband  had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrines 
of  India ;  that  after  her  husband's  death  she  had 
adopted  the  girl,  who,  later,  had  brought  her  so 
much  trouble. 

"Do  you  believe  that  after  your  death  you  will 
see  your  husband  and  children?"  we  asked. 
"No,"  she  replied  decidedly,  "not  my  children 
certainly.      They   were   merely   loaned    to    me; 

234 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

where  they  are  now  I  do  not  know.  My  hus- 
band? Perhaps  I  shall  see  him,  but  from  afar, 
for  as  he  is  a  man  he  dwells  near  the  gods." 

A  few  nights  after  this  the  old  lady,  becoming 
worried  about  her  daughter's  condition,  took  her 
little  oil-lamp  and  an  offering  of  rice  into  the 
garden,  and,  prostrating  herself,  called  loudly 
on  "J^sus  Christ,  the  God  of  the  Christians." 
It  was  by  no  means  a  conversion  to  Christianity, 
but  among  her  millions  of  gods  she  was  adding, 
for  policy's  sake,  the  God  of  the  people  who  were 
ministering  to  her  daughter  in  her  illness.  The 
daughter  herself  was  calling  on  her  own  god, 
*'0h  Siva,  Siva,  Siva!"  when  one  of  our  nurses 
said,  "Don't  call  on  the  Hindu  gods!  Tell  your 
troubles  to  Jesus  Christ!" 

*'Who?"  inquired  the  woman.  The  nurse  re- 
peated the  name  and  gave  a  short  explanation 
of  what  the  name  meant.  Without  comment  the 
heathen  woman  continued  her  wail,  ''J^sus 
Christ,  Jesus  Christ!" 

After  the  child  was  born  the  nurse  told  us 
that  the  mother  had  resolved  to  kill  it  at  the 
first  opportunity.  However,  we  watched  the 
baby  carefully,  and  when  the  time  came  for  the 
patient  to  leave  the  hospital  I  said  to  her :  "Will 
you  sell  your  baby  to  me  for  two  rupees?" 

"Sell  it!"  she  replied.     *T  will  pay  you  two 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

rupees  if  you  will  take  it  and  save  me  the 
trouble  of  casting  it  into  the  river."  So  the  baby 
became  ours  and  we  named  her  Prema  Divanna 
(Love's  Blessing). 

Inherently  superstitious,  the  Indian  people 
find  strange  ways  of  deceiving  the  devil-gods 
whom  they  fear  with  pitiable  terror.  A  Brahman 
woman  brought  to  our  hospital  her  ten-year-old 
daughter  who  was  suffering  from  so  slight  an 
ailment  that  I  was  surprised  when  the  mother 
fell  at  my  feet  in  great  agitation  and  begged  me 
to  save  the  life  of  her  child. 

"Oh,  save  her!  Save  her!  Save  her!"  she 
cried  hysterically.  When  I  at  last  made  her  un- 
derstand that  her  daughter's  life  was  not  in 
danger,  I  asked  her  why  she  was  so  troubled 
about  such  a  light  matter. 

"Do  you  know  my  child's  name?"  she  inquired 
tragically.     "It  is  Adivi!" 

"Adivi"  means  "jungle,"  or,  in  American  par- 
lance, "backwoods,"  and  I  marveled  at  the 
answer,  for  the  Brahmans  usually  name  their 
children  for  some  goddess,  or  give  them  some 
such  name  as  "Moonbeam,"  or  "Lotus  Lily," 
or  "Jewel." 

"Adivi!"  I  repeated.  "Why  have  you  given 
her  such  a  name  as  that?"  Then  she  told  me 
her  story: 

236 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

"Sons  and  daughters  were  born  to  me  and  I 
gave  them  beautiful  names  and  loved  them.  The 
Devil  grew  envious  and  took  them  from  me. 
Then  this  daughter  came  and  I  said  to  myself, 
*I  will  name  her  "Mistress  Dung-heap,"  and  will 
drag  her  through  the  filth  of  the  stable,  for  then 
surely  the  Devil  will  never  know  I  love  her.' 
But  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  this.  I  com- 
promised; I  named  her  'Jungle'  or  'Useless 
Earth,'  and  now,  even  now,  see,  I  tremble  for 
fear  she  also  will  leave  me!" 

In  a  few  days,  however,  the  girl  was  quite 
well,  and  the  mother,  in  a  grateful  farewell  to 
me,  cried  out  the  Indian  form  of  blessing,  "May 
you  have  seven  sons  and  may  your  stomach  al- 
ways be  cool!"     (May  you  never  have  fever!) 

The  first  attitude  of  the  Indian  people  toward 
us  is  usually  an  attitude  of  suspicion  and  dis- 
like. We  are  foreigners;  we  are  white;  we  are 
different.  Some  of  the  people  even  go  to  the 
trouble  to  preach  distrust  of  us  in  the  open  ba- 
zaar. We  had  an  enemy  of  this  sort  in  a  young 
man  whose  father  was  a  hakim.  The  influence 
of  this  youth,  who  could  not  say  enough  against 
us  and  against  our  hospital,  kept  hundreds  of 
patients  from  coming  to  us.  His  sister,  a  girl 
of  fourteen,  became  ill  with  typhoid  fever;  the 
hakim  father  happened  to  be  out  of  town,  and 

237 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

the  frightened  mother  brought  the  child  to  us. 
She  had  been  in  our  hospital  one  night  when  the 
father  returned.  He  was  very  angry  and  de- 
manded his  daughter.  I  told  him  plainly  that 
only  Western  treatment  could  save  his  daugh- 
ter's life,  and  begged  him  to  leave  her  with  us. 
He  replied: 

"You  will  murder  her;  I  shall  have  her  well 
and  strong  within  a  few  days." 

He  took  the  child  from  us,  and  in  just  three 
days  she  died. 

Months  passed  and  I  saw  nothing  more  of  the 
hakim,  but  his  active  enmity  and  his  son's  con- 
tinued. Then,  again,  one  evening  the  hakim's 
wife  came  to  me,  weeping  bitterly. 

She  said  her  grandson  was  dying;  that  they 
had  done  everything  to  no  purpose,  and  begged 
me  to  help  him.  The  sick  child  was  the  new- 
born and  only  son  of  my  worst  enemy.  As  the 
little  creature  had  been  born  prematurely,  and 
weighed  only  two  pounds,  it,  of  course,  required 
very  special  warmth  and  care,  but  I  found  it 
lying  on  the  mud  floor  of  the  hut  without  a 
stitch  of  covering  on  its  body,  and  with  all  the 
winds  of  a  January  night — and  January  nights 
in  India  are  cold — blowing  over  it.  The  babe 
was  chilled  to  unconsciousness.  I  seized  it  at 
once  and,  holding  it  close  to  my  breast,  ran  for 

238 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

the  hospital.  For  hours  I  thought  the  wee  boy 
would  never  again  open  his  eyes,  but  at  last  the 
treatment  took  effect  and  he  stirred  cozily  in  his 
warm  blankets.  Then  how  we  fought  for  that 
little  Hfe! 

We  made  him  a  pretty  "Baby  Bunting"  suit, 
a  coat  reaching  to  the  feet  and  high  boots  reach- 
ing to  the  hips,  both  of  baby  blue  flannel  inter- 
lined with  an  inch  thickness  of  cotton  wool, 
lined  and  piped  with  baby  blue  silk,  and  tied 
with  baby  blue  ribbons.  With  the  aid  of  these 
doll  clothes  and  of  three  warm  blankets,  we  kept 
the  baby's  temperature  up  to  the  proper  mark; 
and,  knowing  that  if  a  moment's  carelessness  oc- 
curred the  little  flicker  of  life  might  die  out,  we 
carefully  and  personally  supervised  everything 
done   for  him. 

Through  it  all  we  had  to  contend  with  the 
tearful  resistance  of  the  baby's  family,  who  did 
not  quite  dare  to  take  the  child  from  us,  but  who 
daily  prostrated  themselves  at  our  feet  and 
begged  us  to  conform  to  their  customs  in  the 
treatment  of  the  babe.  My  reply  was  always 
the  same :  "Your  customs  were  killing  him.  Let 
us  try  our  customs !" 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  when  the  hot 
weather  made  it  safe  to  do  so,  I  gave  him  back, 
plump  and  bonny,  to  his  parents.     When  I  left 

239 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Medak  he  was  a  sturdy  little  son  of  whom  any 
Indian  mother  might  be  proud;  and  the  saving 
of  his  life  gave  his  parents  full  faith  in  us. 

As  proof  of  this  faith,  the  young  father, 
shortly  after  I  had  resigned  the  baby  to  his  own 
people,  brought  me  his  wife  who  was  seriously 
ill.  As  he  laid  her  on  the  bed  before  me,  he  said 
in  trembling  tones:  "She  is  your  daughter.  I 
leave  her  with  you  in  faith  and  hope." 

When,  well  and  happy,  she  left  the  hospital, 
the  young  man  fell  on  his  knees  and  kissed  my 
feet,  sobbing  out  his  gratitude. 

We  have  no  warmer  friend  in  India  this  day 
than  our  once  arch-enemy. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Ramamma  would  never 
recover  her  sight.  Ramamma  was  a  Hindu  lady 
of  nobility  who  had  been  blind  for  a  year  and 
had  been  treated  for  two  months  in  our  hospital. 
Then  came  a  day  when  dimly  but  surely  she 
could  see.  Slowly  her  sight  returned,  and  we 
rejoiced  with  her  happy  family  and  her  happy 
self. 

Her  husband  and  son,  a  precocious  boy  of 
twelve  years  with  an  almost  English  face, 
proudly  brought  us  an  Indian  pony  as  a  present. 
The  man  salaamed  courteously  as  he  presented 
the  pony;  but  the  boy,  more  profuse  in  his  grati- 
tude, finished  a  long  presentation  speech  by  sud- 

240 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

denly  prostrating  himself  at  my  feet.  I  was 
not  prepared  for  this  action,  and,  as  I  stood,  one 
of  my  feet  was  in  advance  of  the  other.  The 
youthful  courtier  looked  up  helplessly:  ''Why, 
Honorable  Lady  Doctor,  how  can  I  kiss  your  feet 
when  they  are  not  together?  Put  them  to- 
gether, please." 

As  I  obligingly  brought  my  feet  into  close 
apposition,  he  grasped  them  and  holding  them 
tightly,  he  gently  bumped  his  forehead  on  them 
several  times. 

The  phrase  in  Scripture,  ''because  of  his  im- 
portunity," I  readily  understood  after  a  brief 
acquaintance  with  a  certain  impudent,  lovable 
knave,  the  ten-year-old  son  of  Rassalbhi,  a  Ma- 
homedan  woman,  who  for  many  years  had 
patronized  our  Temple  of  Healing. 

In  the  midst  of  afternoon  work  at  my  desk 
comes  a  voice  over  the  lower  half  of  my  door : 

"Salaam,  Doctor  Mem  Sahib!  Will  your 
Honor  from  the  greatness  of  your  heart  grant 
to  me,  Hassan,  the  son  of  Rassalbhi,  one  small 
request?  My  mother  has  for  many  long  days 
felt  weakness  upon  her  and  she  wished  me  to 
fetch  her  the  strength-giving  medicine  which  I 
was  to  call  for  last  month." 

"But,"  I  expostulate,  knowing  that  his  moth- 
er's condition  is   far   from  serious,   "why  have 

241 


I  JUNGLE    DAYS 

you  come  in  the  afternoon?  I  have  often  told 
you  that  the  dispensary  is  closed  in  the  after- 
noon; you  know  I  am  busy  with  other  work  at 
that  time ;  and  when  you  live  so  near  you  should 
come  in  the  morning." 

The  solemn,  oriental  eyes  take  on  a  reproach- 
ful expression. 

"I  make  to  you  a  thousand  salaams,  Doctor 
Mem  Sahib !  I  kiss  your  feet ;  I  am  your  slave ; 
will  your  Honor  give  me  the  medicine?' 

For  five  minutes  I  reason,  command,  threaten, 
not  dreaming  to  escape  the  dispensary,  but  hop- 
ing to  make  him  admit  his  error.  His  reply 
is  unvarying  and  beyond  argument:  "A  thousand 
salaams!  Will  you  give  me  the  medicine?"  My 
time  is  precious  and,  as  I  have  often  done  before 
under  like  circumstances,  I  surrender  ignomin- 
iously.  When  I  hand  the  boy  the  filled  bottle, 
he  promptly  asks  me  if  I  will  give  him  a  pair  of 
shoes.  In  spite  of  his  mother's  urgent  need  of 
medicine  he  seems  to  have  no  intention  of  hurry- 
ing home. 

"These  are  excellent  shoes,"  he  declares,  spy- 
ing my  bedroom  slippers.    "I  should  like  these." 

"But  they  are  much  too  large  for  you,  child." 

"Oh  no,  they  are  very  elegant!"  and  he  clumps 
around  in  them  with  manifest  enjoyment. 

I  do  not  yield  to  him  so  readily  in  the  matter 
«  242 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

of  shoes  as  of  medicine,  but  let  him  clump  while 
I  go  on  with  my  work;  for  I  soon  learned  by 
sad  experience  the  value  of  the  Western  shoe 
and  clung  desperately  to  the  remnants  of  mine. 
Although  your  Eastern  shoes  have  a  number  of 
fine  points,  they  stick  up  so  aggressively  through 
the  heel  that,  in  the  absence  of  any  trustworthy 
cobbler,  it  requires  at  least  a  folded  postal  card 
to  keep  them  properly  modified.  The  soles  are 
slightly  less  than  an  inch  thick — saving  in 
leather  is  no  object — and  some  day  when,  your 
full  trust  reposing  in  those  shoes,  you  have 
walked  half  a  mile  along  a  damp  road,  you  feel 
a  sudden  and  unusual  sense  of  lightness  and 
ease.  Looking  down  you  find  that  the  sole  has 
been  left  behind  in  the  last  mud  puddle,  and 
you  sigh  over  the  inadequacy  of  India's  glue. 
One  ought  not  to  complain,  I  suppose,  when  the 
shoemaker  will  sit  down  on  your  back  veranda — 
the  shoemaker  is  the  outcaste  of  India  and  is  not 
allowed  to  sit  on  the  front  veranda  where  the 
dhirzi  or  tailor,  a  high-caste  man,  has  his  sewing 
machine — and  make  you  any  number  of  shoes  at 
only  sixty  cents  a  pair  with  all  that  extra  leather 
of  the  sole  thrown  in. 

Queer  and  original  ideas  the  patients  some- 
times gain  from  the  Bible  stories.  We  asked  an 
intelligent  high-caste  Hindu  woman,  who  had 

243 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

spent  a  few  days  in  our  hospital,  to  tell  us  the 
story  of  the  Prodigal  Son.  This  was  her  ver- 
sion: 

''A  man  had  two  sons,  and  the  younger  son 
asked  his  father  to  give  him  his  portion  of  the 
inheritance.  This  the  father  did.  Then  the  son 
went  to  a  far  country  and  rapidly  squandered 
his  money  in  gambling,  drinking,  and  a  bad  life. 
Finally,  with  the  few  rupees  he  had  left,  he 
bought  china  and  set  up  a  china  shop  in  the  ba- 
zaar. But  he  was  very  lazy  and  fell  asleep. 
While  he  was  asleep  he  stretched  out  his  foot  and 
lo!  the  china  fell  to  the  ground  and  broke  into 
little  pieces.  Then  what  should  he  do?  He  was 
obliged  to  ask  employment  as  a  swineherd.  But 
he  had  not  enough  to  eat,  so  he  stole  for  him- 
self the  food  of  the  swine.  The  master,  having 
noticed  that  the  swine  grew  thinner  and  thin- 
ner, spied  on  the  bad  son,  and  found  him  eating 
their  food.  Whereupon  he  gave  his  unfaithful 
servant  a  great  blow  and  a  painful,  which 
brought  him  to  his  senses,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self, *I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father,'  "  the  nar- 
rator completing  the  tale  as  it  is  written  in  the 
Scriptures. 

A  Brahman  woman  who  heard  the  story  re- 
marked: "It  is  a  good  tale  and  well  told.  The 
Hindu  religion  is  ours  and  so  we  pray  to  our 

244 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

own  gods,  but  your  religion  is  better,  for,  see, 
will  a  Hindu  father  forgive  a  son  that  has  dis- 
honored him  ?  No !  When  anybody  is  in  trouble, 
do  our  people  give  him  help  ?  No,  indeed !  They 
speak  fair  words  from  the  shastras  and  tell  him 
to  go.  Those  who  have  much  keep  it  all  to  them- 
selves like  a  lamp  hid  in  an  earthen  pot,  but  the 
Christians  put  their  light  on  high  places  and  it 
shines  on  everybody  with  love  and  kindness  and 
good  gifts." 

Every  one  of  my  readers  has  at  some  time, 
I  suppose,  laughed  over  English  as  spoken  by 
the  East  Indian. 

These  are  letters  that  have  come  to  us  from 

our  patients: 

From  Hyderabad. 
To  THE  Doctor  Mem  Sahib, 

My  Dear  Respected  Madam, 
Honored  Sir, 

I  most  humbly  and  respectfully  beg  to  state  a  month 
past  that  I  received  a  letter  from  my  relation  containing 
with  following  subject — that  your  husband  has  a  pimple 
in  his  chest  and  he  is  dangerously  ill,  come  as  soon  as  you 
can  possible.  So  at  once  I  started  from  Medak  to  City 
without  your  embracings  and  kind  permission.  Please 
excuse  me,  I  will  come  again  near  you,  after  the  opera- 
tion of  my  husband's  pimple,  because  I  had  got  the  most 
satisfaction  that  your  good  remedy  about  the  pain  of  my 
liver.  You  must  send  the  reply  to  the  following  address : 
Your  most  humbly  and  faithfully, 

(Signed)  O.  K. — 
Ramyanpett. 
245 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Great  and  Respected  Queen, 
My  dear  Sir  : 

Send  advise  written  plain  and  quick  by  my  chaprassi. 
I  show  my  not  having  much  sense  one  day  because  as  I 
was  going  to  see  Tanks  through  the  jungle,  I  felt  very 
sick  and  tight.  My  servant  said  to  me,  Sir,  lie  down  and 
I  will  give  you  berries  from  a  tree,  then  all  tightness  will 
go.  My  respected  Doctor  Lady,  my  servant's  words  came 
true.  I  did  eat  and  my  whole  Enatomy  had  never  tight- 
ened since.  Send  your  valuable  drugs  to  make  me  tight 
again.  I  am  lying  down  with  no  more  strong  on  one 
side  than  the  other  side.  Feet  and  legs  to  will  not  obey 
too  quickly.    No  much  life  in  my  body. 

Yours  most  humble  and  faithfully, 

(Signed) 

A  healthy  looking,  young  Mahomedan  called 
at  the  dispensary  one  day  and  made  the  follow- 
ing startling  statement  in  English:  "Doctor 
Madam,  you  will  please  make  me  careful  ex- 
amination. I  am  suffering  a  fatal  attack  of  am.- 
monia." 

Sometimes  our  hospital  pictures  are  all  sun- 
light and  laughter. 

Poshamma,  the  hospital  cook,  came  one  day 
and,  gravely,  but  with  a  peculiar  twinkle  in 
her  eye,  asked  me  to  come  and  see  "a  new 
patient." 

There  on  the  cook-house  steps  close  by  the 
dispensary  door  sat  an  enormous  gray  monkey 
with  black  face  and  tail-tip,  eating  leisurely  and 

246 


HOSPITAL  LIGHTS  AND  SHADES 

with  evident  enjoyment  some  bread  which  kind- 
hearted  Poshamma  had  given  him,  his  self-satis- 
fied expression  showing  plainly  that  he  realized 
his  descent  from  the  intrepid  builders  of  Rama's 
bridge. 


XXXII 

YOUNG   HOPEFULS 

ALMOST  as  interesting  to  me  as  the  hos- 
pital were  the  schools  for  boys  and 
girls.  When  I  came  to  Medak,  I  could 
scarcely  credit  the  information  that  the  filthy, 
ignorant  coolie  men  and  women  of  the  com- 
pound were  the  parents  of  the  neat,  intelligent 
lads  and  lassies  in  the  schools.  These  coolies, 
as  might  be  expected  from  a  race  subject  for 
centuries,  and  with  a  religion  having  no  con- 
nection with  morality,  are  born  liars  and  thieves, 
and,  worse,  unashamed  of  their  shortcomings. 

Knowing  this  fact,  I  was  surprised  one  day  to 
hear  the  schoolgirl  daughter  of  a  coolie  say,  with 
a  proud  toss  of  her  head  and  a  flash  of  her  eyes: 
*'Do  you  think  I  would  lie?  No,  indeed!  A  lie 
is  not  only  wicked  but  is  silly  and  cowardly!" 
Possibly  the  little  miss  may  not  be  able  to  live 
up  to  her  ideals  at  all  times — thus  dififering  in 
no  wise  from  the  rest  of  us  mortals — but  I  loved 
her  for  the  pride  of  her  tone  and  for  the  hope 
she  represented. 

248 


YOUNG   HOPEFULS 

The  poorest  of  our  Western  school  children 
would  feel  a  deep  pity  for  these  little  folk  whose 
life  is  a  study  in  simplicity,  their  bed,  a  blanket 
on  a  wooden  floor ;  their  chair  and  table,  another 
wooden  floor;  their  dress,  two  thin  garments; 
and  their  food,  rice  and  chilis.  The  pity  of  the 
Western  children  would  be  wasted,  however,  for 
frequently  what  we  Westerners  consider  the 
necessaries  of  life  are  regarded  as  oppressive 
burdens  by  these  people. 

Our  little  folk  find  much  to  make  them  happy. 
They  are  happier  still  when  a  wedding  is  in 
progress,  and  happiest  of  all  when  the  wedding 
is  a  double  wedding,  such  as  took  place  during 
my  first  year  at  Medak.  The  brides,  garlanded 
with  flowers,  and  with  faces  modestly  drooping, 
were  charming  in  white  saris  and  yellow  and 
green  satin  jackets  and  skirts,  while  the  bride- 
grooms, in  white  muslin  with  gay,  colored  scarfs 
draped  over  the  left  shoulder,  and  also  wearing 
garlands  of  flowers,  presented  a  dignified,  manly 
appearance.  After  the  service,  powdered  spices 
were  thrown  by  the  jovially  disposed  guests  into 
the  eyes  of  the  brides  and  grooms,  and  they  were 
showered  with  rice  as  they  climbed  into  the  bul- 
lock tonga,  which  was  conducted  with  great  re- 
joicing all  about  the  compound,  the  shouts  and 
laughter  every  now  and  then  giving  place  to  the 

249 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

loud  and  ringing  wedding  song,  Tsahla  Santo- 
shamoo!     (Great  Joy.) 

Durganna,  formerly  a  Dacoitie  boy,  is  one  of 
our  big  band  of  schoolboys.  The  Dacoities  are 
born  to  the  occupation  of  robbery  and  murder, 
but  they  have  a  social  standing  and  are  as  proud 
of  their  work  as  any  Brahman.  When  one  re- 
alizes that  they  are  trained  to  all  the  steps  of 
deceit  and  crime  as  soon  as  their  baby  brains 
will  grasp  connected  thoughts,  one  feels  only  pity 
for  the  victims  of  this  evil  system.  After  all, 
the  Dacoities  are  not  entirely  different  from  the 
rest  of  the  mild-mannered,  affectionate  Indian 
people. 

A  tall,  pleasant- faced  lad  used  to  lie  at  my  feet 
in  the  evening  and,  by  the  light  of  my  punkah- 
lamp,  slowly  trace  with  his  fingers  the  Telugu 
characters  in  his  reading-book.  Every  little 
while  he  would  look  up  and  ask  me  some  ques- 
tion about  what  he  was  reading.  This  was  Dur- 
ganna. From  his  birth  he  had  been  trained  in 
all  the  wicked  arts  of  the  Dacoities,  but  when  he 
was  yet  a  child  his  father  was  convicted  of  a 
crime  and  imprisoned.  This  was  during  the  ter- 
rible famine  of  '96  and  '97,  and  Durganna  and 
his  mother,  in  despair,  sought  work  at  the 
Christian  "Famine  Camp."  Durganna  became 
an  errand  boy  and  slowly  but  surely  the  evil  of 

250 


Boys'  playground,  Medak 


L 


Girls'  playground,  Medak 


YOUNG   HOPEFULS 

his  education  was  supplanted  by  good  and  he 
became  a  Christian,  ambitious  to  be  an  evan- 
gelist. Long  and  hard  he  worked  at  his  first 
reading-book,  and  then  at  all  the  books  that  fol- 
lowed, until  his  triumph  came  when  he  brilliantly 
passed  his  entrance  examinations  for  the  theo- 
logical training  school. 

Dina  was  a  mite  of  a  girl  who  was  worse  than 
motherless.  For  a  few  rupees  which  had  been 
offered  her  by  a  Mahomedan  zenana,  the  mother 
consented  to  sell  Dina  as  a  slave  if  she  could  but 
steal  her  from  the  school.  This  we  intended  to 
prevent,  if  possible,  for,  when  our  Mission  took 
Dina,  her  mother  signed  papers  forfeiting  all  her 
rights  in  the  child. 

One  day  Dina  seemed  very  much  frightened 
and  for  several  days  thereafter  kept  close  to  Miss 
Richardson,  her  school-superintendent,  of  whom 
she  was  very  fond.  At  last  she  confided  the 
cause  of  her  terror. 

"My  mother  came  again  in  the  night,"  she 
whispered  in  awed  tones.  "Always  l^efore,  she 
has  offered  me  sweetmeats  if  I  would  run  away 
with  her,  but  I  told  her  I  loved  you  too  well  to 
leave  you.  This  time  she  was  very  cross  with 
me,  and  when  she  went  away  she  said  she  would 
come  again  some  night  and  choke  me  to  death 
unless  I  would  go  with  her,  but  I  didn't  go !" 

251 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

However,  we  watched  Dina  very  carefully, 
and  after  several  months  her  mother  gave  up  her 
fruitless  attempts  to  steal  her. 

Our  Jesumani  (Jewel  of  Jesus),  a  young  Bible 
woman  and  the  bride  of  one  of  our  leading  evan- 
gelists, was  but  three  years  of  age  when   she 
was  dedicated  by  her  parents,  in  return  for  a  val- 
uable piece  of  land  and  a  yearly  offering  of  rice, 
to  the  life  of  a  devil  priestess,  a  life  almost  too 
revolting  for   description.      She  was   ten  years 
old  when  the  Mission  found  her.    Her  long,  un- 
combed, unwashed  hair  and  the  bits  of  leather 
tied  about  her  neck  told  of  the  life  of  shame  be- 
fore her,  and,  according  to  custom,  her  parents 
were  making  ready  to  offer  her  as  a  sacrifice  to 
her    profession.      This    meant    that,    during    a 
drunken  revelry  of  the  villagers,  the  child  would 
herself  be  made  drunk  and  given  over  to  the 
sensual  brutality  of  the  devil  priest.    After  that 
she  would  become  the  common  property  of  all 
unscrupulous  men.    However,  obtaining  support 
for  the  child  and  for  her  family,  also,  as  she  was 
their  mainstay,  and  overcoming  all  the  stubborn 
opposition  that  bigotry  and  hatred  of  foreign  in- 
trusion could  present,  the  Mission  set  her  free. 
To-day,   looking  at  Jesumani's  happy    face,    it 
would  be  hard  to  realize  that  she  confronted  but 

252 


YOUNG   HOPEFULS 

a  few  years  ago  the  most  horrible  fate  that  could 
befall  a  woman. 

Nerickshanna,  another  of  our  schoolgirls,  was 
always  a  brave  Christian  soldier.  A  schoolmate 
starting  home  for  vacation  placed  on  her  fore- 
head— thoughtless  vanity  her  probable  motive— 
a  dot  of  vermilion,  which  is  a  sign  of  Hinduism. 
Nerickshanna  spied  the  mark  and  rubbed  it  ofif 
with  no  gentle  hand. 

"How  dare  you,"  she  exclaimed  indignantly, 
"adorn  yourself  with  the  sign  of  the  heathen 
gods  and  thus  disgrace  our  Lord  Jesus!" 

Nerickshanna  had  an  excellent  memory,  and 
often  attempted  to  sing  English  songs  she  had 
heard  (the  child  did  not  understand  one  word 
of  English).  Her  favorite  was  "Little  Alabama 
Coon,"  and  she  got  the  melody  perfectly,  singing 
lustily  and  with  confidence : 

Go  to  seep,  my  lily  pipanimbo, 
Unnerneaf  ee  siller,  suller  moon. 

She  was  in  hospital  with  malaria  when  a  baby 

born  to  one  of  the  patients  died  before  it  had 

ever    breathed.      In    her    prayer    that    evening 

Nerickshanna  pleaded  with  tears  in  her  eyes: 

"O  God,  the  baby  that  died  to-day  was  never 

baptized,  so  I  suppose  it  is  in  hell ;  but  wherever 

it  is,  dear  God,  please  bless  and  take  care  of  the 

sweet  little  baby!" 

253 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

A  seven-year-old  schoolboy  fell  from  a  high 
swing  and  broke  his  arm.  An  honest  fraud  was 
this  same  schoolboy.  I  allowed  him  to  come  into 
my  room  one  day  to  play  with  the  chessmen. 
When  he  went  away  I  examined  his  arm  to  see 
if  it  were  improving,  and  out  from  the  sling 
dropped  two  of  the  knights. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  I  exclaimed,  "how  could  you 
steal  from  me  ?  Have  I  not  always  been  good  to 
you?" 

His  large  eyes  grew  larger  with  injured  in- 
nocence. 

"I  stole  them  not,"  he  protested,  "they  accrued 
to  me  from  that  game  I  was  playing!" 

Then  and  there  I  took  the  boy's  morals  in 
hand  and  talked  to  him  for  five  minutes  for  his 
soul's  good.  I  had  expected,  at  the  end  of  my 
eloquent  harangue,  tears  and  repentance,  but  he 
gravely  inquired:  "If  I  had  asked  you  for  the 
little  figures,  would  you  have  given  them  to 
me?" 

"No,"  I  replied.  "They  are  part  of  an  ex- 
pensive game." 

"Then,"  he  concluded,  clinching  his  argument, 
"if  I  had  not  taken  them  without  permission, 
how  else  could  I  have  obtained  them?" 


XXXIII 

PENETRATING   THE   WILDS 

ANOTHER  tour,  "penetrating  the  wilds!" 
It  was  late  afternoon  when  we  started 
out  into  unknown  regions,  unknown  to 
our  tonga  driver  as  well  as  to  ourselves,  and 
more  especially  unknown  to  our  "guide."  In 
spite  of  our  slight  anxiety  at  the  thought  of  a 
moonless,  starless,  dinnerless,  blanketless  night 
in  the  jungle,  and  of  the  fact  that  jolting  over 
the  rough  roads  had  made  us  all  "sorry  in  the 
stomach,"  as  little  Eva  Adkin  used  to  express  it, 
we  could  not  suppress  our  amusement  at  the 
guide's  directions,  our  driver  in  bewilderment 
turning  this  way  and  that,  retracing  the  path 
over  and  over,  until  we  hysterically  told  him  to 
ignore  the  statements  of  that  will  o'  the  wisp 
guide  and  to  go  straight  ahead. 

At  last,  late  at  night,  far  away  on  a  hill  top,  a 
light  gleamed,  and  in  glad  relief  we  felt  that 
people  must  be  there  who  could  give  us  an  idea 
of  our  whereabouts.  On  reaching  the  light, 
what  was  our  surprise  and  joy  to  find  it  our  own 

255 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

lantern  shining  from  the  tent  which  had  gone  on 
ahead  with  the  servants!  A  deHcious  chicken 
curry  and  a  steaming  cup  of  tea  soon  compen- 
sated us  for  all  our  troubles. 

In  the  morning  we  were  awakened  by  a 
woman's  loud  wailing  near  the  tent,  and  Vv^e 
learned  that  a  fourteen-year-old  wife  had  been 
severely  beaten  by  her  husband  and  was  lying 
prostrate  on  the  ground  just  outside.  While  we 
soothed  her  with  words  and  medicine,  we  could 
but  compare  this  with  an  incident  of  the  day 
before — the  beginning  of  a  Lombardy  honey- 
moon !  On  rounding  a  turn,  we  had  seen  a  white 
bullock  decked  out,  Lombardy  fashion,  with 
shreds  of  cloth  of  various  gaudy  colors  and  with 
bits  of  shell  and  looking-glass  dangling  over  his 
forehead,  surrounding  his  horns,  and  fluttering 
in  the  breeze.  Just  behind  came  a  handsome, 
stalwart  Lombardy  holding  close,  in  a  vain  en- 
deavor to  comfort  her,  his  young  bride  who  was 
wailing  bitterly  as,  in  her  new  rainbow  suit,  with 
her  thick  blanket  hiding  her  face,  she  left  the 
shelter  of  her  parents'  home  for  that  of  her  hus- 
band. Far  off  on  the  road  above  her,  the  family 
group  waved  their  good-bye,  the  mother  wailing 
as  the  daughter  wailed,  the  more  philosophic  old 
grandmother  bending  over  the  mother  as  if 
speaking  words  of  wisdom  and  comfort.    As  we 

256 


Medak  doctor  on  tour 


Medak  nurse  visiting  the  sick  in  a  palanquin 


PENETRATING   THE   WILDS 

passed,  the  bride's  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her 
grief  and  she  took  her  blanket  from  her  face 
and  stopped  crying  to  have  a  good  look  at  us. 

On  our  march  to  the  second  village,  the  rough- 
est of  roads  compelled  us  to  walk  miles  in  the 
noonday  sun,  and  we  all  came  ofif  with  sore  feet 
and  sun  headaches.  The  baggage  cart  twice  over- 
turned, breaking  our  tapestrung  bed  and  injur- 
ing the  driver.  However,  we  managed  to  get  at 
least  a  thin  layer  of  straw  on  which  to  sleep  for 
the  next  few  nights,  and  the  driver's  wounds  soon 
healed. 

It  was  on  this  trip  that  we  saw  three  large 
mango  trees  just  beside  the  road,  swarming  with 
thousands  of  flying  foxes.  We  were  indeed  glad 
to  exchange  the  deafening  noise — rustling, 
squeaking,  squealing — and  the  suffocating  ver- 
min-odor for  the  breezes  sweeping  across  the 
rippling  blue  of  the  great  lake  by  which  we 
camped.  It  was  a  wild  jungle  spot,  and  the  in- 
habitants of  the  neighboring  village  were  terri- 
fied by  the  bold  visits  of  tigers  or  leopards  which 
struck  down  sheep  and  goats  by  the  score.  The 
savage  creatures  had  left  the  remains  of  a  few 
of  their  victims  close  by  our  camp,  and  it  took 
some  time  to  remove  them.  During  that  first 
afternoon,  while  the  servants  were  cleaning  the 

257 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

ground  for  the  tent,  they  killed  three  venomous 
snakes. 

''Abo!"  exclaimed  our  evangelist.  "That  is  a 
very  bad  sign;  if  patients  see,  they  would  not 
come ! 

Distemper,  too,  had  wrought  havoc  among 
the  cows  and  goats,  so,  according  to  custom,  a 
small  boy  led  a  sheep  up  and  down  before  it 
should  be  sacrificed  to  Siva  in  an  appeal  for 
mercy. 

Certainly  this  little  village  seemed  in  sad  dis- 
favor of  its  gods.  At  night  so  fierce  a  storm 
broke  over  us,  that  with  all  our  strength  we  could 
scarcely  hold  up  the  tent  poles,  firmly  fixed  in 
the  ground  as  they  were ;  and  it  was  early  morn- 
ing before  the  strength  of «  the  gale  subsided 
and  we  could  lie  down  to  sleep.  Even  then  we 
were  disturbed  by  the  coolies  loudly  shouting  and 
waving  lights  to  scare  away  the  leopards. 

On  the  first  day  at  this  village  the  patel  lent 
us  his  gracious  countenance  for  nine  consecutive 
hours.  As  he  watched  the  patients  crowd  for- 
ward with  their  various  ailments  he  noted  care- 
fully each  new  disease,  and  as  we  gave  the  medi- 
cine for  it  he  would  gravely  tell  us  that  some  one 
of  his  household  had  this  same  disease  and  he 
would  like  medicine  to  cure  it,  until  he  had  a 

258 


PENETRATING  THE   WILDS 

sample — a  very  small  one,  you  may  be  sure — of 
nearly  everything  in  stock. 

As  we  returned  to  the  tent,  after  an  evening 
stroll,  the  servants  told  us  that  a  cobra  which 
had  been  killed  in  a  village  house  had  been 
brought  for  us  to  see.  To  catch  the  reptile  a 
man  had  baited  a  strong  hook  with  a  toad,  and 
when  the  snake,  from  its  underground  fastnesses, 
seized  the  bait,  the  man  quickly  jerked  it  forth 
to  its  death  with  the  hook  through  its  jaw.  I 
gave  the  man  a  present  and  kept  the  snake  for 
its  skin.  After  holding  an  interesting  autopsy 
over  the  creature,  which  measured  six  feet  in 
length  and  five  inches  in  circumference,  we  de- 
livered the  skin  to  our  "boy"  for  preservation. 

A  weird  scene  that  night  was  the  worship 
about  an  anthill.  Once  some  god  or  other  had 
been  buried  in  an  anthill,  so  now,  in  memoriam, 
on  a  certain  day  of  the  year,  crowds  of  men  bury 
a  bit  of  molded  clay  in  an  anthill  to  represent 
the  dead  god  and  then  march  round  and  round 
the  anthill  carrying  lighted  torches  and  wailing 
loudly  for  the  dead. 

About  dawn  next  morning,  we  heard  a  rustle 
of  the  straw  under  our  cots.  Thinking  that  a 
pariah  dog  had  found  its  way  into  the  tent,  we 
called  the  butler  to  come  and  drive  it  forth,  when 
what  was  our  surprise  to  see  a  tall,  haggard  man 

259 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

slowly  emerge  from  beneath  the  cot.  Gazing 
wildly  at  us  for  a  moment,  he  gave  a  piercing 
shriek  and  darted  from  the  tent.  Later  we 
learned  his  story. 

He  was  a  rich,  high  caste  Hindu  merchant 
whom  domestic  unhappiness  had  driven  mad. 
There  is  no  confinement  in  India  of  "the  dead 
who  walk,"  as  they  call  the  insane,  and  this  un- 
fortunate lunatic  roamed  about  at  will.  Our 
people  gave  him  food  and  otherwise  treated  him 
kindly ;  so,  throughout  our  stay  at  his  village,  he 
remained  close  by  the  tents,  watching  our  every 
movement.  We  took  care,  however,  that  he  did 
not  again  sleep  beneath  our  bed. 

When  we  drove  on  to  Dhoomkonda,  the  mad 
merchant  ran  and  leaped  and  danced  beside  us 
all  the  way.  Now  and  then,  with  a  shrill 
scream,  he  would  dash  past  the  tonga  at  full 
speed,  holding  his  head  in  his  hands;  then  he 
would  pause  and  quietly  smoke  as  he  walked  be- 
side us,  depositing  matches  or  rice  or  flowers  at 
our  feet.     It  was  all  very  pathetic! 

Dhoomkonda  is  ruled  by  a  rajah  and  is  very 
strong  in  its  caste  prejudices.  There  is  not  a 
single  Christian  in  all  that  large  town.  How- 
ever, the  people  crowded  upon  us  thickly,  as 
usual.  Five  hundred  and  forty-six  patients  re- 
ceived treatment  the  first  day.     Our  poor  cha- 

260 


PENETRATING  THE   WILDS 

prassi,  in  his  attempt  to  hold  back  the  throng, 
was  seized  roughly  by  a  big  Mahomedan  who 
tore  to  shreds  the  cliaprassi's  pink  turban,  his 
pride  and  joy.  This  insult  was  too  much,  and,  in 
spite  of  belonging  to  a  Christian  camp,  the  cha- 
prassi  engaged  in  a  free  fight  then  and  there, 
which  required  much  effort  on  our  part  to  stay. 

In  one  of  the  villages  we  visited  the  people 
had  never  before  seen  a  white  face,  and  when  we 
started  out  for  a  stroll  they  followed  us  respect- 
fully but  with  unveiled  curiosity.  We  at  last  sat 
down  beneath  a  tree  and  called  the  people  to 
come  and  talk  to  us.  As  they  timidly  drew  near 
one  of  the  men,  looking  at  our  shoes,  exclaimed: 
"How  strange  you  people  are!  You  have  white 
faces  and  black  feet  with  no  toes,  and  we  know 
not  whether  you  be  men  or  women.  Your  fea- 
tures are  like  a  woman's,  but  you  hold  your  heads 
up  and  walk  quickly  and  proudly  as  no  woman 
would  walk!" 

We  were  delighted  to  find  here  and  there  in 
our  travels  patients  who  had  been  treated  by  us 
before  and  who  were  loud  in  their  gratitude. 
One,  a  Brahman  girl  who  had  been  cured  in  our 
hospital,  proudly  showed  us  her  garden. 

"See,"  she  said,  as  she  pointed  to  a  tree  or  a 
flower,  "I  saw  them  in  the  garden  at  your  hos- 

261 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

pital;  when  I  came  home  I  straightway  planted 
the  same  kind  in  my  own  garden." 

While  in  hospital,  this  young  Brahman  girl, 
Parvatiamma,  had  won  our  hearts  by  her  sweet 
disposition  and  patience  under  suffering.  For 
years  she  had  borne  this  pain  which  was  destroy- 
ing all  her  joy  in  life.  After  coming  to  us,  a  very 
simple  treatment  had  restored  her  health,  but 
she  could  scarcely  realize  that  she  was  cured. 
Her  mother,  an  old  Brahman  widow  with  a  keen 
sense  of  humor,  said  one  day:  ''See  my  daugh- 
ter's face,  see  it!  She  is  waiting  for  the  pain 
and  it  will  not  come."  Then  she  laughed  joy- 
ously and  the  daughter  laughed  with  her. 

At  the  same  time  that  the  Brahman  girl,  Par- 
vatiamma, was  in  the  hospital,  Sangamma,  a 
Hindu  low  caste  girl,  was  there  also.  Sangamma 
was  a  child-woman  of  sixteen,  so  thin  and  frail 
that  our  hearts  ached  for  her.  Her  husband 
had  deserted  her  for  a  stronger  wife;  her  mother 
was  dead;  but  the  fond  old  father  regularly 
brought  her  food  and  begged  us  to  care  for  her 
and  to  make  her  well. 

*'When  she  is  well  I  will  give  you  a  rupee!" 
he  said  grandly,  and  his  chest  swelled  with  pride 
at  the  munificence  of  his  promise. 

Sangamma  got  into  trouble  one  day  by  unwit- 
tingly touching  Parvatiamma's  dress.  The  wrath 

262 


PENETRATING  THE   WILDS 

of  the  Brahman  was  heavy  on  the  head  of  the 
low  caste  girl,  and  there  was  much  bathing  and 
purifying  in  the  wards.  Sangamma,  trembling 
with  fear,  promised  to  be  careful  in  future,  but 
her  apologies  seemed  not  to  soften  the  wrath 
of  the  defiled  Brahman.  A  few  days  later,  as  I 
sat  by  Parvatiamma's  bed  talking  to  her,  she 
drew  my  head  down  to  hers  and  whispered:  "I 
shall  aways  be  a  Brahman,  but  I  should  like  to 
be  an  unselfish  Brahman,  as  you  white  people  are 
unselfish  Christians." 

When  I  made  my  rounds  that  evening,  I  heard 
little  Sangamma  crying  weakly  in  her  corner, 
for  the  day  had  been  more  trying  than  usual  for 
her.  As  I  started  toward  her  to  comfort  her,  I 
stopped  amazed.  Not  seeing  me  behind  her,  Par- 
vatiamma  who,  less  than  a  week  before,  had 
cursed  Sangamma  because  their  garments  had 
accidentally  come  into  contact,  bent  over  the 
weeping  child  and,  stroking  her  cheek,  said 
gently:  "Cry  not,  little  one!  Courage,  dear! 
The  pain  will  soon  go  and  you  will  again  be 
happy." 

To  those  who  know  not  India,  this  physical 
touching  by  a  Brahman  of  one  lower  in  caste 
may  seem  a  slight  thing,  but  I,  understanding 
what  it  meant  in  loving  self-sacrifice,  felt  too 

263 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

deeply  touched  for  words  and  stole  silently  out 
of  the  ward. 

And  now  Parvatiamma  showed  us  her  pretty 
garden.  She  declared  she  was  "as  happy  as  a 
bulbul/'  and  when  we  said  good-bye  to  her  she 
showered  us  with  blessings  and  loaded  us  with 
gifts.  In  gay  procession,  we  passed  through 
the  streets  of  the  quaint  old  town  with  its  crum- 
bling wall,  our  people  following  close  after  us, 
the  "boy"  in  advance  of  the  rest  and  bearing  on 
his  head  an  enormous  plate  of  sugar,  cocoanuts 
and  oranges ;  then  the  two  nurses  in  costumes  of 
crimson  and  orange  and  rose  pink,  and  the  vast 
majority  of  the  villagers  bringing  up  the  rear. 

As  we  turned  our  faces  toward  Medak,  we 
stopped  at  a  village  where  we  had  toured  three 
years  before.  At  that  time  we  were  asked  to 
visit  a  woman  "with  a  marble  in  her  breast." 
She  was  a  Brahman,  so  she  did  not  invite  us  to 
enter  her  house,  but  came  to  us  on  the  outer 
veranda.  I  found  upon  examination  that  the 
"marble"  was  a  cancer,  and  I  explained  fully  the 
danger  and  the  necessity  for  immediate  opera- 
tion. Months  passed,  and  then  came  Brahman 
Lakshmamma  to  our  hospital.  The  "marble"  had 
grown  to  a  hideous  sore,  and  she  had  at  last 
decided  to  submit  herself  to  our  hands. 

"We  have  tried  every  other  doctor  and  every 

264 


PENETRATING  THE   WILDS 

remedy  known  to  us,"  said  her  three  grown  sons, 
prostrating  themselves  at  my  feet,  "but  all  have 
failed;  now  in  perfect  faith  we  come  to  you!" 

I  performed  the  operation  and  Lakshmamma 
made  a  good  recovery  and  went  home.  This 
time,  when  we  came  to  her  village,  Lakshmamma 
herself  met  us  far  down  the  street  and  drew  us 
into  her  house  and  into  the  courtyard  close  to 
her  sacred  Tulsi  plant  and  to  the  shrine  of  her 
household  god.  Smilingly  she  beckoned  to  our 
nurses  and  assistants  to  follow,  and  then  whis- 
pered something  to  her  eldest  son.  He  hastily 
left  us  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  with  all 
the  Brahmans  in  the  village  at  his  heels. 

"I  have  invited  them,"  said  Lakshmamma, 
"to  hear  the  sweet  music  of  your  Telugu  Christ- 
ian hymns  which  I  heard  with  such  delight 
while  in  your  hospital." 

Several  hymns  were  sung,  the  people  listen- 
ing in  silent  pleasure.  Then  Lakshmamma 
turned  to  Abbishakamma : 

"Now  will  you  tell  us  the  story  of  Elizabeth?" 
she  requested.  "It  is  good  for  these  young 
women  to  hear." 

The  dusk  had  settled  over  the  landscape  before 
we  finally  departed  for  our  long  trip  home,  with 
garlands  about  our  necks  and  Lakshmamma's 
blessing  in  our  ears. 

265 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

As  next  morning  we  drove  through  a  thick 
woodland,  we  saw,  strutting  in  the  underbrush, 
a  peacock,  his  beautiful  feathers  gleaming  in  the 
sunshine,  and  by  his  side  his  meek  little  hen  and 
five  baby  chicks. 


XXXIV 
FANTASTIC   SUMMER'S    HEAT 

WHEN,  during  my  last  year  at  Medak, 
the  hot  April  sun  made  us  all  long  for 
"the  Hills,"  I  decided  to  resist  the 
temptation  to  go,  keeping  my  money  for  an  ex- 
tensive sightseeing  trip  on  my  way  home  to 
America.  Hotter  and  hotter  blazed  the  sun  as 
the  days  dragged  by,  and  the  fitful  breezes  might 
have  been  from  the  depths  of  a  furnace  fire.  All 
nature  looked  like  a  man  burning  with  high  fever. 
The  maidan  was  dried  to  a  yellow-brown  shade; 
the  pipal  trees  held  up  to  the  sun  rigid  skeleton 
arms  pleading  for  mercy ;  the  air  shimmered  with 
the  intensity  of  the  heat;  the  birds  sat  with 
wings  outstretched  and  with  beaks  open,  gasp- 
ing for  air;  while  not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness 
except  the  lazy  drone  of  the  bees.  On  the  damp 
floor  of  the  bathroom  our  pet  terriers  found 
their  only  approach  to  comfort,  hugging  close 
the  water  pots  and  panting  breathlessly.  For 
myself,  I  tried  to  keep  cool  by  thinking  of  May 
in  the  home  country,  its  spring  green  of  new 
grass,  the  violets  and  anemones  scattering  their 

267 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

beauty  through  the  woods,  and  the  apple  blos- 
soms crowning  the  orchards  with  purity  and 
sweetness.  I  tried  to  imagine  the  exhilarating 
air  and  the  song  of  the  nesting  birds.  Often  it 
was  too  hot  even  for  this,  and  my  bursting  head 
held  only  a  dull  longing  that  the  day  would  end. 

Fortunately,  people  were  too  hot  to  realize 
they  were  sick,  or  else  too  hot  to  come  for  medi- 
cine when  they  were  sick,  so  I  had  leisure  to  sit 
beneath  the  waving  punkah  and  feel  the  pleasant 
stirring  of  the  hot  air. 

Then  came  Miss  Hare,  a  Secunderabad  mis- 
sionary, with  some  of  her  school  children;  Mr. 
Johnson  and  Mr.  Adkin,  two  of  our  Medak  mis- 
sionaries, returned  from  a  tour  in  the  outer  dis- 
trict, and,  all  working  together  to  help  the  little 
folks  enjoy  their  vacation,  we  managed  to  have 
a  very  pleasant  summer. 

Every  nurse  and  servant  tried  to  outdo  every 
other  in  loving  service  to  us,  and  through  all 
the  weary  summer  weeks  their  zeal  and  loyalty 
never  flagged. 

The  gramophone,  mango  feasts,  especially 
elaborate  dinners  on  the  flat  roof  of  the  hospital, 
magic  lantern  stories,  picnics  at  the  old  hill-fort 
and  on  the  beautiful  Huldi  River,  and  various 
other  festivities,  kept  us  all  busy  in  preparation 
and  enjoyment. 

268 


FANTASTIC  SUMMER'S  HEAT 

To  add  to  the  pleasure  and  excitement,  the 
Yellaka  people  came  one  evening  to  visit  us.  The 
Yellaka  people  are  a  nomadic  tribe  of  gypsy  for- 
tune tellers,  black-skinned,  keen-witted,  cheerful 
hearted,  and  clothed  in  uniform  of  Kipling's 
Gunga  Din,  who  drive  from  village  to  village  cat- 
tle and  donkeys  which,  with  baskets  they  have 
woven,  and  with  other  merchandise,  they  sell 
and  thus  earn  a  livelihood.  The  Telugu  peasants 
generally  have  harsh,  unmodulated  voices,  but  I 
have  rarely  heard  voices  softer  or  more  musical 
than  the  Yellakas'.  One  bright-eyed  young 
woman  begged  me  to  have  my  fortune  told,  so  I 
obediently  seated  myself  on  the  grass  and 
listened,  more  to  the  sweetness  of  the  voice  that 
spoke  than  to  the  matter  spoken.  Weaving  her 
body  to  and  fro,  she  placed  my  hand  which  she 
held  on  her  forehead,  then  on  my  own  forehead, 
and  murmured  on  and  on  for  several  minutes, 
until  she  had  convinced  me  that  at  least  she  had 
a  clear  brain  and  a  remarkable  power  of  deduc- 
tion. Then,  at  our  request,  the  whole  band  of 
gypsies  gave  us  an  exhibition  of  their  extraor- 
dinary powers  of  mimicry.  Their  jackal  howl 
set  the  dogs  barking  furiously  and  darting  again 
and  again  into  the  shadows  to  find  the  noisy  dis- 
turbers of  the  night's  peace. 

When  the  Yellakas  had  finished  their  perform- 

269 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

ance  and  had  tied  in  their  turbans  the  coins  we 
gave  them,  they  begged  to  hear  the  "man  ma- 
chine" (gramophone)  of  which  they  had  heard. 
We  turned  on  a  Telugu  song  or  two  which  they 
greatly  enjoyed.  Tlien  we  gave  them  the 
"Laughing  Song,"  and  the  peals  of  laughter 
from  the  gramophone  set  the  queer  black  folk 
rolling  on  the  ground  in  uncontrolled  mirth. 

So  one  hot  day  quickly  succeeded  another,  and 
the  cool  winds  of  June  were  blowing  up  from 
Ceylon,  telling  that  the  monsoon  had  broken,  be- 
fore we  realized  that  vacation  was  ended  and  life 
was  about  to  resume  its  ordinary  routine. 


XXXV 

STRENUOUS    TIMES 

ONE  afternoon  messengers  came  to  us  in 
deep  distress,  begging  us  to  go  with 
them  and  give  treatment  to  a  "sick 
child"  at  a  village  "only  eight  miles  distant,  over 
good  roads."  I  was  very  busy  at  the  hospital 
and  feared  to  leave  some  of  the  patients,  but  the 
messengers  said  that  the  parents  of  the  child 
were  especially  orthodox  Hindus,  who  would  not 
bring  him  to  a  Christian  hospital ;  that  the  child 
had  been  sick  but  a  few  days  and  had  had  no 
other  treatment ;  and  that  now  surely  when  they 
had  become  anxious  about  him,  we  would  respect 
their  faith  in  us  shown  by  not  calling  in  hakims, 
and  would  come  at  once.  At  last  their  piteous 
appeals  won  me  and  I  started  forth  in  the  tonga 
with  one  of  the  English  ladies  who  insisted  on 
accompanying  me,  and  with  our  chaprassi,  fully 

armed. 

Of  all  rough  rides  I  have  taken  in  rough- 
roaded  India  that  ride  was  the  roughest.  Often 
the  tonga  dropped  straight  down  two  feet  into  a 

271 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

gutter;  often  to  help  the  bullocks  in  their  impos- 
sible task  we  dismounted  and  pushed  the  tonga; 
often  we  climbed  out  and  walked  through  the 
ankle-deep  mud  of  the  rice  fields;  until,  late  at 
night,  footsore  and  exhausted,  we  arrived  at  our 
journey's  end  with  the  knowledge  that  the  mes- 
sengers had  lied  to  us  about  the  distance  as  well 
as  about  the  condition  of  the  roads;  that  instead 
of  eight  the  village  was  twenty  miles  from 
Medak.  The  sick  ''child"  proved  to  be  thirty 
years  old,  and  the  son  of  the  patel.  We  learned 
then  that  his  people  feared  we  would  not  come 
should  they  tell  us  the  truth,  as  our  hospital  is 
known  to  be  especially  for  women  and  children. 

A  hasty  examination  showed  me  that  the  pa- 
tient had  but  a  short  time  to  live,  and  I  called  his 
father  and  younger  brother  aside,  saying:  "He 
is  dying;    I  cannot  help  him." 

Prostrating  themselves  at  my  feet,  they  begged 
me  to  do  "something — anything." 

"If  you  do  not  give  him  medicine  the  women 
will  know  that  he  is  dying  and  will  wail;  then 
he  will  know  and  be  frightened." 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  "all  you  people  of  India 
know  what  brandy  is;  I  will  give  him  a  little 
brandy." 

Leaning  over  the  young  man,  I  poured  a  large 
spoonful  of  diluted  brandy  down  his  throat. 

272 


\ 


STRENUOUS   TIMES 

Immediately  he  cried  out  in  agony :  *'0h,  the 
burning,  the  burning!"  and  I  realized  that  the 
hakims  had  ruined  the  patient's  stomach  by  their  \ 

drastic  concoctions.  He  was  dying  fast  now,  so, 
pushing  my  way  through  the  crowd  which  had 
gathered,  I  sat  down  with  my  English  friend  on 
a  ruined  stone  foundation  of  a  house,  raised 
above  the  level  of  the  street,  and  there  we 
awaited  the  end  as  the  father  had  begged  us  to 
do,  fearing  our  departure  would  tell  the  sad 
truth  to  the  patient  and  to  his  women  relatives. 

In  about  an  hour  the  sudden,  loud  wail  told  us 
the  man  had  died,  and  a  moment  later  our  chap- 
rassi,  with  ashen  face  and  eyes  starting  from 
their  sockets,  ran  toward  us. 

"They  say  you  have  killed  him,"  he  gasped, 
"and  that  they  will  kill  you  to  avenge  him ;  they 
are  furious  with  the  fury  of  a  tiger ;  let  us  run !" 

At  his  heels  came  the  mob.  As  far  as  I  could 
see,  men  and  women  with  angry  faces  and  with 
threatening  cries  and  gestures  rushed  toward  us, 
their  voices  rising  louder  and  louder  in  fierce 
condemnation,  till  the  sound  was  like  the  gather- 
ing of  a  thunder  storm. 

"Run!"  I  echoed  scornfully — I  was  too  indig- 
nant to  feel  afraid — *1  will  never  run  from  the 
cowardly  dogs !"  With  my  English  friend  stand- 
ing at  my  side,  and  with  the  chaprassi — valiant 

273 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

fellow! — cowering  behind  me,  I  rose  to  my  full 
height  on  the  platform  of  stone,  and,  facing  the 
mob,  held  up  my  hand  in  a  gesture  demanding 
silence. 

Surprised  into  stillness  by  my  attitude,  they 
stopped. 

Then,  in  my  best  Telugu,  and  marveling  at 
the  fluency  excitement  had  given  me,  I  began: 

"Men  and  women,  listen  to  my  words  and  tell 
me  are  you  treating  me  fairly? 

"You  lied  to  me  when  you  said  the  patient  was 
a  child;  you  lied  to  me  when  you  said  he  had 
been  ill  but  a  few  days,  and  had  taken  no  other 
medicine  but  mine;  now  you  admit  that  this  is 
the  end  of  weeks  of  illness;  you  admit  that  you 
have  given  the  medicines  of  every  Jiakini  that 
w^ould  come.  You  told  me  your  village  was  eight 
miles  distant  from  Medak;  it  is  twenty,  and  we 
traveled  rough  roads  to  reach  you.  When  I 
came  I  told  the  patient's  own  father  and  brother 
that  he  was  dying;  that  I  could  do  nothing  to 
help  him;  and  only  at  their  earnest  request,  and 
against  my  own  wish,  did  I  give  him  medicine  (I 
explained  to  them  what  medicine  I  had  given). 
Now  you  say  I  murdered  him.  Is  your  accusa- 
tion just?  Is  the  man's  death  any  benefit  to  me? 
No.  Then  why  should  I  murder  him?  On  the 
contrary,  should  I  not  have  done  all  I  could  to 

274 


STRENUOUS    TIMES 

save  his  life,  and  thus  win  the  friendship  of  your 
village,  which  you  know  to  be  the  desire  of  our 
Mission?  Stand  forth!"  I  concluded,  pointing 
my  finger  at  the  father  and  brother  of  the  pa- 
tient, "and  show  yourselves  to  be  men!  Tell 
these  people  I  have  spoken  truly!" 

I  stopped  and,  amid  the  buzzing  voices  which 
followed  my  protest,  I  heard  the  clear  tones  of 
the  dead  man's  father.  "Yes,  truly  she  has 
spoken.  We  are  in  the  wrong,"  and  one  by  one 
the  people  of  the  great  crowd  slunk  back  to  their 
dead,  leaving  us  to  go  our  way  in  peace. 

Then,  only,  did  I  feel  the  nervous  strain.  For 
a  moment  everything  swam  before  me,  and  it 
was  a  mighty  effort  that  gave  me  strength 
enough  to  climb  into  the  tonga,  where  I  sank 
down  almost  unconscious. 

Traveling  on  through  the  jungle,  we  stopped 
toward  daylight  under  a  big  tree  and  slept  for  an 
hour  and  a  half.  Then  we  bathed  our  faces  in 
the  river,  had  some  tea  and  bread  from  the  tiffin 
basket,  and  pushed  along.  It  was  literally  "push- 
ing along,"  too,  for,  as  we  climbed  the  hill  toward 
home,  our  chaprassi  mysteriously  disappeared. 
We  learned  afterward  that  he  had  been  over- 
come with  cholera,  but  had  managed  to  stagger 
home — and  we  three,  now  without  the  help  of  the 
chaprassi  s  strong  arm,  had  to  push  the  heavy 

275 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

tonga  up  the  fearful  ruts  and  gaps  in  the  road, 
too  much  for  the  strength  of  the  bulls  alone,  un- 
til, with  sun  headaches  and  a  pessimistic  view  of 
life  in  general,  we  reached  the  compound. 

The  chaprassi  recovered  from  the  cholera, 
which  he  always  said  was  brought  on  by  his 
fright  at  the  mob. 

Other  excitements  were  in  store  for  us. 

Even  in  this  India  of  glorious  nights  I  am 
sure  that  night  when  five  of  us  missionaries,  ac- 
companied by  Rajah  and  Rani,  our  pet  fox-ter- 
riers, had  set  out  on  a  tour  to  Ramyanpett  was 
the  most  glorious,  the  most  weirdly  enchanting. 
The  trees  and  underbrush  on  both  sides  of  the 
lonely  jungle  road  glistened  with  myriads  of  fire- 
flies until  it  was  impossible  to  tell  where  those 
glowing,  twinkling  stars  of  earth  joined  the  glow- 
ing, twinkling  stars  of  heaven.  In  the  midst 
shone  Venus  like  a  radiant  young  moon.  The 
warm  air  was  heavy  with  the  scent  of  lemon-  and 
spice-grasses;  the  jackals  and  the  giant  frogs 
held  high  carnival ;  and,  through  the  shrill  howls 
and  hoarse  croaks,  came  startling  at  intervals  the 
mournful  hoot  of  an  owl. 

We  had  tired  of  the  tonga  and  had  climbed 
down  to  eat  supper  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  on  a 
flat,  roadside  rock.  As  we  ate  and  laughed  and 
chatted,  we  recalled  that  it  was  just  about  at  the 

276 


STRENUOUS   TIMES 

spot  where  we  were  sitting  that  leopards  had  fre- 
quently been  seen,  and  that  a  tiger  had,  a  few 
days  before,  killed  the  horse  of  the  Zemindar. 
This  did  not  lessen  our  appetites,  but  we  spoke 
again  of  these  things  as,  supper  finished,  we 
strolled  along  in  the  road  following  the  tonga,  the 
terriers  trotting  about  thirty  yards  behind  us. 
Suddenly  Rani  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  we 
turned  quickly.  There  was  a  loud  crash  of 
bushes  as  a  heavy  body  bounded  away  among  the 
rocks,  and  our  little  dog  had  disappeared  never 
to  be  seen  again.  Though  we  were  unarmed,  we 
felt  no  fear  for  ourselves.  Nevertheless,  we 
could  not  help  a  "creepy"  sensation  when  we 
thought  of  how  long  the  savage  beast  must  have 
stalked  us  before  it  dared  spring  so  boldly  on  our 
unfortunate  pet. 

After  Rani's  death,  Rajah  never  recovered  his 
good  spirits.  Instead  of  the  playful,  affectionate 
little  dog  he  had  been,  he  became  quiet  and 
morose,  shrinking  into  corners  and  frequently  re- 
fusing his  food.  We  thought  him  pining  for  his 
playmate,  but  we  were  finally  forced  to  the  con- 
clusion that  his  condition  was  more  serious  than 
that.  Miss  Tombleson,  returning  from  Ramyan- 
pett,  reported  that  Rajah,  who  had  gone  with  her, 
had,  quite  contrary  to  his  usual  conduct,  sprung 
suddenly  on  a  pariah  dog  and  bitten  it  savagely ; 

277 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

Miss  Tombleson  had  pulled  him  away,  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  had  turned  on  her  and 
bitten  her  hand,  drawing  the  blood. 

After  they  came  home  that  night,  I  was  alone 
in  my  room.  Rajah  lying  quietly  at  my  feet,  when 
Jack,  a  fox-terrier  belonging  to  Miss  Beaulah, 
one  of  our  English  ladies,  came  running  in.  Like 
a  flash,  Rajah  sprang  upon  him.  I  seized  a  desk 
ruler  lying  near,  and,  jerking  the  smaller  dog 
from  Rajah's  grasp,  gave  Rajah  a  sharp  blow 
with  the  ruler.  Instantly  he  turned,  and,  with  a 
low  growl,  sprang  straight  at  my  throat.  As  he 
sprang,  I  dodged,  and  that  second  the  truth  came 
to  me.  Rajah  had  gone  mad.  Then  suddenly  I 
recalled  the  words  of  an  animal  trainer  whose 
performance  I  had  seen  in  my  childhood:  "'It 
'em  in  the  nose  w'en  they  gets  savage!  That's 
w'ere  you've  got  'em — in  the  nose !" 

Again  and  again,  with  bloodshot  eyes,  bristling 
hair  and  foaming  mouth,  the  dog  sprang  at  me. 
At  each  spring  I  met  him  with  a  sharp  rap  on  the 
nose,  until  at  last  he  crouched  low  in  a  corner 
apparently  subdued.  I  backed  from  the  room 
and,  closing  the  door,  ran  to  call  a  servant.  The 
dog  made  no  resistance  as  we  tied  a  rope  about 
his  neck  and  made  him  fast,  meaning  to  decide 
his  fate  by  a  morning  consultation. 

Long  after  midnight,  our  Miss  Beaulah  was 

278 


STRENUOUS   TIMES 

awakened  by  the  sound  of  some  animal  leaping 
over  the  lower  half  of  her  door,  and  she  jumped 
out  of  bed  just  in  time  to  see  Rajah  viciously 
assail  little  Jack,  the  terrier,  who  was  tied  in  a 
corner.  Miss  Beaulah  had  been  half  ill  for  sev- 
eral days,  and  to  beat  Rajah  off  her  pet  with  a 
chair  and  finally  from  the  room  was  a  task  almost 
beyond  her  strength,  and  left  her  prostrated  with 
fright  and  exhaustion.  When  daylight  came, 
Rajah  was  discovered  cowering  in  a  corner  of 
our  veranda,  wild-eyed,  covered  with  blood,  and 
every  few  minutes  giving  the  single,  sharp  bark, 
shrill  and  pitiful,  of  rabies.  The  rope  with  which 
we  had  tied  him  was  gnawed  in  two  and  a  dead 
pariah  dog,  terribly  mangled,  found  in  the  gar- 
den, explained  Rajah's  bloody  coat.  There  could 
be  no  more  delay.  Miss  Tombleson  consented  to 
have  her  pet  shot,  and,  sad  at  heart,  we  walked 
out  over  the  maidan  to  be  away  from  the  tragedy. 
We  had  walked  scarcely  two  miles  when  a  rifle 
shot  rang  out,  and  we  knew  our  little  Rajah  had 
joined  his  playmate  Rani. 

The  conviction  that  Rajah's  illness  was  rabies 
brought  the  knowledge  that  Miss  Tombleson  ran 
the  risk  of  contracting  the  disease  from  the 
wound  he  had  given  her,  so  I  sent  her  at  once  to 
Coonoor,  where  was  the  nearest  Pasteur  Insti- 

279 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

tute,  and  she  has  suffered  no  ill  effects  from 
Rajah's  bite. 

A  few  weeks  later  came  the  rainy  season. 

Heavily,  steadily  for  days  the  rain  poured 
down,  swelling  the  brooks  to  rivers  and  the  rivers 
to  seas. 

The  rainy  season  in  India  is  called — very  ap- 
propriately that  last  year — the  "sick  season." 
Our  hospital  was  crowded  to  the  doors,  and  many 
of  our  patients  were  in  rough  temporary  shelters 
of  straw.  The  number  treated  at  the  dispensary 
was  enormous;  and  almost  everybody  that  was 
not  actually  sick  felt  damp  and  miserable. 

It  was  during  this  time  that  Miss  Tombleson 
and  I  went  to  Ramyanpett  to  give  out  some  neces- 
sary medicines.  We  forded  with  difficulty  the 
two  streams  that  brawled  across  the  road  and 
next  day,  when  we  wished  to  return  to  Medak, 
the  bandy  driver  told  us  the  streams  had  swollen 
so  greatly  during  the  night  that  we  should  prob- 
ably not  be  able  to  cross.  However,  we  felt  that 
we  must,  if  possible,  get  back  to  the  hospital,  and 
we  boldly  set  forth,  while  the  rain  rained  on,  the 
wettest,  wettest  rain! 

Arriving  at  the  first  stream,  we  saw  that  ford- 
ing it  would  be  dangerous  for  the  bullocks,  so  we 
told  Latchman  to  put  them  up  in  the  rest  house, 
and  we  would  try  to  walk  home  by  ourselves. 

280 


STRENUOUS   TIMES 

Along  the  bank  in  the  tall,  wet  grass  we  stumbled, 
trying  to  find  some  crossing  point  and  at  last, 
telling  Miss  Tombleson  to  wait  on  the  bank,  I 
plunged  in.  Though  the  water  was  but  waist 
deep,  I  could  scarcely  stand  against  the  rushing 
flood.  Suddenly  I  sank  to  my  neck,  and  in  an 
instant  was  being  whirled  down  stream  powerless 
to  resist.  Fortunately  a  branch  of  a  tree  pro- 
jected over  the  water.  This  I  seized  and,  holding 
it  with  all  my  might,  for  I  knew  it  meant  life 
itself,  I  managed  to  drag  myself  to  the  bank. 
The  noise  of  the  wind  and  the  waters  drowned 
Miss  Tombleson's  voice,  but  I  could  see  her  face 
blanched  with  terror,  and  the  look  of  relief  when, 
somewhat  bruised  and  scratched,  I  climbed  up 
and  rejoined  her. 

With  a  little  more  caution,  we  tried  to  cross  the 
stream  at  several  other  points,  but  failed.  At 
last,  to  our  joy,  we  found  a  wide,  shallow  place 
where  the  water  was  comparatively  quiet,  and 
succeeded  in  crossing  over. 

What  was  our  surprise  to  find  that  Latchman 
had  also  crossed  with  the  bullocks  swimming,  and 
was  waiting  for  us. 

All  this  had  taken  time,  and  when  we  came  to 
the  bank  of  the  second  stream,  which  was  swirl- 
ing as  viciously  as  the  first,  we  realized  that  it 
would  be  madness  to  attempt  to  cross  it  in  the 

281 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

pitchy  darkness  of  the  night.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  resign  ourselves  to  the  inevitable. 
Soaked  to  the  skin,  we  wrapped  our  dripping  rugs 
about  us  and,  climbing  into  the  bandy,  sat  all 
night  on  the  wet  cushions,  now  waking  to  the 
sound  of  the  wild  wind  and  rain  and  of  the  croak- 
ing frogs;  and  again,  in  spite  of  the  discomfort, 
sleeping  from  pure  weariness. 

In  the  morning  we  perched  ourselves  on  the 
back  of  the  bandy  seat,  and,  with  the  help  of  the 
ropes  in  the  hands  of  hired  coolies,  were  pulled 
across.  An  hour  later  we  were  at  home  and 
thankful  for  the  cup  of  hot  tea  which  the  solici- 
tous butler  placed  before  us. 

Then  came  the  Hyderabad  floods,  one  of  the 
great  disasters  of  the  world,  which  will  be  long 
remembered  by  us  who  were  eye-witnesses  of  the 
frightful  devastation. 

Half  the  entire  rainfall  of  the  year  fell  within 
less  than  two  days.  During  those  few  short 
hours  the  Musah  River,  flowing  through  the  very 
center  of  Hyderabad  City,  rose  sixty  feet,  wreak- 
ing havoc  indescribable.  In  the  heart  of  the  great 
city  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabi- 
tants a  district  one  mile  long  and  half  a  mile 
wide,  containing  thirty  thousand  residences  and 
other  buildings,  was  utterly  destroyed.  In  the 
country  beyond,  whole  villages  were  swept  away, 

282 


STRENUOUS   TIMES 

thousands  of  lives  were  lost,   and  millions   of 
rupees'  worth  of  property. 

It  was  reported  that  the  Nizam,  on  learning  of 
the  terrible  loss  of  life,  wept  like  a  child. 

Of  course,  such  a  sudden  and  awful  calamity 
brought  everywhere  to  light  heroes  of  the  bravest, 
many  of  whom  must  forever  be  unknown  and 
unnamed.  The  Afzul  Ganj  Hospital,  the  public 
zenana  hospital  of  Hyderabad  City,  was  in  the 
center  of  the  ruined  area.  As  the  river  over- 
flowed its  banks  and  climbed  higher  and  higher, 
the  lady  nurses,  two  of  whom  were  Rohillas  and 
one  a  Sikh,  realized  the  danger  and,  with  the 
help  of  coolies,  managed  to  convey  all  of  their 
patients,  except  one  who  was  dying,  to  safety  on 
the  roof  of  the  Char  Minar. 

The  Char  Minar  is  a  huge  mosque  with  four 
minarets  and  four  arches,  which,  before  the  flood, 
was  at  the  center  of  the  business  district  of 
Hyderabad,  and  under  whose  arches  ran  four  of 
the  largest  streets  of  the  city.  On  its  high  flat 
roof  the  Afzul  Ganj  nurses  and  their  charges 
found  refuge  and  there,  all  that  cold  night,  they 
sat,  clad  in  night  dresses  or  dressing  gowns,  try- 
ing to  protect  their  patients  from  the  pouring 
rain.  In  the  morning  they  were  found  by  the 
lady  doctors  of  the  hospital,  who  lived  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city,  and  who  had  many  times  risked 

283 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

their  lives  on  reeling,  falling  bridges  before  they 
finally  reached  the  Char  Minar,  and  had  their 
nurses  and  patients  taken  in  boats  to  a  more  com- 
fortable refuge. 

Miss  Tombleson  and  I,  in  a  visit  to  Hyderabad 
three  weeks  later  to  see  the  ruins,  found  the 
whole  country  still  a  vast  lake.  The  ruins  them- 
selves, miles  of  wrecked  buildings,  spoke  of  hor- 
rible things  in  a  language  plainer  than  words. 


XXXVI 

THE   CHOLERA   TERROR 

WHILE  these  sorrows  and  anxieties  were 
filling  our  hearts,  the  cholera  terror 
crept  insidiously  into  the  Medak  Dis- 
trict, and  swift  and  terrible  was  the  slaughter  of 
its  victims.  Families,  streets,  villages  of  people 
were  wiped  out  of  existence.  Along  every  high- 
way, at  frequent  intervals,  was  stretched  across 
the  road  from  tree  to  tree  the  rope  of  mango 
leaves  which  implores  Misamma,  the  devil  god- 
dess of  cholera,  not  to  go  farther.  Little  mud 
temples  painted  with  the  sacred  red  and  yellow 
stripes,  and  heaped  with  offerings  of  wild  flowers 
and  rice  and  milk,  were  erected  here  and  there 
by  the  wayside,  and  prayers  by  the  thousands 
were  made  to  the  goddess  of  cholera,  begging 
mercy.  Life  was  one  long  nightmare.  Contin- 
ually, day  and  night,  we  could  hear  the  loud  wail- 
ing of  mourners  for  their  dead ;  and,  one  follow- 
ing close  on  the  heels  of  the  other,  went  the  sad 
processions,  wending  their  way  to  funeral  pyre 
or  burial  ground. 

285 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

One  of  these  processions  appeared  so  extraor- 
dinary that  I  could  hardly  believe  the  man  they 
mourned  was  dead.  Wrapped  in  an  orange  col- 
ored cloth  and  supported  by  two  other  men,  the 
dead  man  sat  upright  in  a  country  cart,  which 
was  followed  by  a  long  stream  of  people  chanting 
mournfully.  It  was  a  Lingyat  funeral.  The 
corpse  is  buried  in  this  sitting  posture  in  a  niche 
built  in  one  side  of  a  large  grave. 

By  stationing  guards  at  every  gate,  and  by 
rigid  rules  concerning  those  coming  and  going, 
we  kept  the  cholera  from  the  people  of  our  com- 
pound, although  outside  cases  were  received 
through  the  hospital  entrance  and  placed  in  tem- 
porary, isolated  shacks  under  the  charge  and 
treatment  of  our  hospital.  Frequently  a  hundred 
and  fifty  cases  at  once  were  under  our  care,  and 
our  regular  nurses  and  as  many  other  people  as 
we  could  press  into  the  service  were  nearly  ex- 
hausted with  work  and  worry. 

One  case  only  broke  out  among  the  Christians. 
Our  dear  Monikyam  was  just  sixteen,  and  on  the 
eve  of  her  marriage,  when  the  cholera  poison  en- 
tered her  fragile  body,  which  had  never  recov- 
ered from  the  privations  she  had  suffered  during 
the  famine  of  '99.  I  was  roused  one  night  by  the 
cry:  "Monikyam  is  very  ill !"  Always  prepared 
during  those  weeks  for  instant  response  to  the 

286 


THE   CHOLERA  TERROR 

frequent  night  calls,  I  was  almost  immediately  at 
the  girl's  bedside.  Even  then  she  was  beyond  all 
earthly  help,  but  to  the  last  she  was,  as  she  had 
always  been,  wholly  unselfish.  I  had  been  work- 
ing for  a  few  minutes  over  her  almost  uncon- 
scious form  when  she  whispered  weakly:  "Do 
lie  down.  Doctor,  dear;  you  will  be  so  tired;  I 
am  not  very  sick;  I  shall  be  quite  well  in  the 
morning." 

The  little  hand,  wrinkled  like  an  old  woman's 
from  the  wasting  disease,  weakly  stroked  my 
face  as  the  eyelids  closed  over  the  eyes  sunk  deep 
in  the  hollowed  cheeks.  We  had  already  sent  for 
her  family,  and  by  the  utmost  effort  I  managed 
to  keep  her  with  us  until  her  people  reached  her 
side  and  received  a  last  smiling  gleam  of  recog- 
nition before  she  passed  "beyond  the  Gates." 

I  would  that  some  of  those  who  scoff  at  "first 
generation  Christians"  could  see  the  white  pages 
of  Monikyam's  life  since,  as  a  little  child,  she, 
with  all  her  family,  accepted  Christ. 

As  the  cholera  epidemic  began  slowly  to  lessen, 
the  cunning  priests,  according  to  their  wont, 
added  more  silver  to  their  ill-gotten  gains  through 
the  great  "Sacrifice  of  Gaoo,"  by  which  they  pre- 
tend to  win  mercy  from  the  cholera  goddess. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  Christians 
would  be  excluded  from  witnessing  the  Gaoo  sac- 

287 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

rifice,  but  our  superintendent  had  been  kind  to  the 
devil  priests  in  many  ways,  so  we  were  allowed 
to  be  present  and  to  take  photographs. 

The  first  day  was  devoted  to  preliminary  rites : 
A  great,  rainbow-colored  rabble  of  men,  women 
and  children,  such  as  can  be  seen  only  in  the 
East,  filthy  and  scant  of  clothing,  filthy  and  by 
no  means  scant  of  speech,  crowd  close  to  the  nar- 
row, cleared  space  where  the  poojaJi  is  to  be  held. 
A  sheep  is  slaughtered  and  a  devil  priestess,  her 
long,  tangled  hair  floating  over  her  shoulders, 
smears  herself  with  the  blood  and  dips  her  gar- 
ment in  the  red  flow  from  the  throat.  Then, 
winding  the  animal's  intestines  around  her  neck 
and  holding  the  dripping  heart  in  her  mouth,  she 
proceeds  to  go  into  various  semblances  of  the 
"prophet's  trance,"  trembling,  fainting,  staring. 
Meanwhile  her  assistants  beat  loudly  on  drums 
and  scatter  leaves  upon  her  until,  waving  a  rice 
basket  over  her  head,  she  breaks  forth  in  a  wail- 
ing voice, 

''The  Devil  requires  many  human  lives  to- 
morrow, as  many  as  there  are  grains  of  rice  in 
this  basket!" 

In  a  frenzy  of  desperation  the  people  rush 
toward  the  loathsome  creature  and,  laying  at  her 
feet  rupees,  sheep,  goats,  fowls,  rice,  beg  for  her 
intercession  with  the  cruel  cholera  devil. 

288 


THE    CHOLERA  TERROR 

On  the  second  day  the  sacrifice  reaches  the 
height — or  the  depths — of  degradation. 

All  the  ground  has  been  carefully  swept  and 
decorated  with  various  geometrical  patterns  in 
colored  chalk.  Just  in  front  of  the  little  temple 
at  one  end  is  a  row  of  sheeps'  heads,  and  in  front 
of  these  again  a  great  heap  of  sheeps'  meat  and 
bones.  Near  this,  and  almost  too  small  for  ob- 
servation, stand  a  spinning  wheel  and  other 
household  utensils,  toilet  articles,  toy  servants,  a 
palanquin,  a  wooden  elephant,  and  several  tiny 
wooden  horses  harnessed  to  a  Juggernaut  car, 
covered  by  a  red  silk  canopy;  all  for  the  use  of 
]\Iisamma,  the  cholera  goddess. 

Beyond  a  large,  bare  space  for  the  pouring  of 
libations  lies  a  row  of  buffaloes'  heads,  each  with 
a  piece  of  skin  removed  from  brow  to  nose,  with 
one  of  its  own  severed  legs  in  its  mouth,  and  on 
its  forehead  a  small,  earthen  lamp  alight.  Still 
beyond,  under  a  shelter  of  sacred  leaves,  is  a 
heap  of  cooked  meat  and  rice,  beside  which  rest 
two  earthen  vessels  filled  with  toddy,  sacred 
leaves  twined  about  the  neck  of  each  vessel.  Lit- 
tle native  lamps  burn  here  and  there  with  a  vile 
smell  of  cheap  oil  and  smoke;  while  at  the  end 
of  the  space  opposite  the  temple  stands  the  prin- 
cipal figure,  the  devil  priestess,  her  hair  flowing 
down  her  back  and  an  abstracted  look  in  her  eyes, 

289 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

playing  on  a  stringed  instrument  and  accompany- 
ing herself  in  a  low,  monotonous  chant  as  she 
"communes  with  the  cholera  devil." 

Seventy  gallons  of  toddy  have  been  poured 
upon  the  ground  before  us,  and  with  this  and 
with  the  sacrificed  animals  the  priestess  begs  the 
devil  to  be  satisfied  and  to  go  away,  as  the  people 
have  given  all  they  can.  The  devil,  however, 
proves  obdurate,  and  with  a  cry,  "She  is  not  yet 
satisfied!"  the  priestess  pretends  to  die. 

At  this  the  people  are  greatly  excited,  and 
there  ensues  a  perfect  pandemonium  of  shouting, 
beating  of  drums,  and  clashing  of  cymbals,  while 
sacred  leaves  and  dust  are  showered  about  and 
two  fowls  are  killed  and  thrown  into  the  air. 
Nevertheless,  not  until  the  sacrifice  amounts  to 
fifty  black-horned  buffaloes,  two  hundred  sheep, 
three  hundred  chickens,  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  gallons  of  toddy,  and  many  bushel  basketfuls 
of  cooked  food  of  all  sorts  does  the  priestess  re- 
turn to  life  telling  the  people  that  at  last  all  is 
well,  and  the  devil  has  mounted  the  little  Jugger- 
naut car  drawn  by  the  wooden  horses  and  has 
driven  off.  The  fact  that  the  car  and  horses  re- 
main quite  stationary  in  the  place  where  they 
have  stood  all  day  makes  no  impression  whatever 
on  these  credulous  folk. 

Now,  at  last,  comes  the  great  event  of  the  day. 

290 


THE   CHOLERA  TERROR 

A  wild-looking  old  man,  clad  only  in  a  loin 
cloth,  runs  up  and  down  in  the  space  before  us,  a 
huge  whip  hanging  over  his  shoulder,  till  two  or 
three  men  catch  him  and  smear  him  thoroughly 
with  red  and  yellow  paste  and  powder  making 
him  indeed  a  hideous  sight;  then  smoking  in- 
cense is  passed  under  his  nose  and,  his  toilet  com- 
pleted, he  dashes  back  into  view.  A  young  man 
bearing  a  live  sheep  springs  out  of  his  way  and 
a  race  ensues  round  and  round  the  little  space 
till  at  last  the  sheep  is  captured  and  the  inhuman 
butchery  begins.  Setting  his  gleaming  white 
teeth  into  the  poor  beast's  lower  lip,  the  old  priest 
tears  savagely  at  the  quivering  flesh  till  he 
reaches  the  jugular  vein ;  then  a  fierce  bite  sends 
a  warm,  red  stream  of  blood  spouting  into  the 
air  and  ends  the  piteous  struggles  of  the  sheep. 
The  priest  raises  his  face;  his  features  are  al- 
most blotted  out  with  the  fast  clotting  blood ;  his 
nostrils  dilate ;  and  his  whole  aspect  is  that  of  a 
veritable  demon.  He  smears  his  whip  in  the 
blood  and  lashes  the  bystanders  until  they  crowd 
back  in  a  panic,  pushing,  stumbling,  shrieking. 

Sick  and  faint,  I  turn  away  and  hurry  unstead- 
ily from  the  evil-smelling  place,  out  into  the  cool 
air  of  the  nearby  meadows,  glad  indeed  to  realize 
that  I  am  still  in  our  own  precious  world  of  God- 
given  joy  and  laughter  and  peace ! 

291 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

The  disgusting  Gaoo  sacrifices  were  carried  on 
in  several  other  villages  of  the  district  where  I 
was  called  to  attend  cholera  patients ;  the  gutters 
ran  blood;  and  the  stench  of  this  blood  and  of  the 
hundreds  of  dead  animals  was  so  nauseating  that 
I  could  not  pass  through  the  streets.  In  order  to 
visit  my  patients  I  had  to  climb  over  back  fences 
and  through  pigsties. 

Just  such  revolting  work  as  this  of  the  devil 
priest  at  the  sacrifice  of  Gaoo  would  have  fallen 
to  our  Jesu  Rajahdass  had  he  not  been  rescued 
by  the  Mission.  It  was  several  years  ago,  when 
Christian  Jesu  Rajahdass  was  eight-year-old 
heathen  Potanna  and  the  hereditary  devil  priest 
of  Surjanna,  which  supports  one  of  the  richest 
devil  priesthoods  in  the  district,  that  one  day, 
much  to  the  surprise  of  our  teacher  at  Surjanna, 
he  walked  boldly  into  the  schoolroom  and  said: 
"I  wish  to  attend  your  school.  I  do  not  wish  to 
become  a  Christian,  but  I  would  read  and  write." 
So  he  came,  and  proved  a  remarkably  bright 
pupil,  easily  surpassing  all  the  others.  As  this 
boy,  Potanna,  learned  of  Christ,  he  grew  to  love 
him,  and  one  day  he  told  his  teacher  of  his  long- 
ing to  be  baptized  a  Christian.  This,  however, 
would  have  been  the  financial  ruin  of  his  parents, 
for  he  was  their  sole  support. 

292 


CD 


u 

3 

•  I— I 
C/2 


THE   CHOLERA  TERROR 

"I  cannot  break  my  mother's  heart,"  he  sobbed, 
"but  I  will  never  talk  with  the  wicked  devil !" 

He  was  twelve  years  old  when  his  mother  died, 
the  greatest  obstacle  thus  being  removed.  Gen- 
erous Western  friends  promised  to  support  the 
father,  so  at  last  the  son  was  free.  Still,  Mr. 
Posnett  knew  there  would  be  a  frightful  uproar 
against  us  in  the  villages,  unless  some  step  should 
be  taken  to  prevent  it,  so  he  invited  forty  devil 
priests  to  a  three  days'  feast  and  entertainment 
and,  after  winning  their  confidence  by  his  friend- 
liness, persuaded  them  to  give  little  Potanna  a 
peaceable  release  from  his  inheritance. 

When  the  day  of  Potanna's  baptism  arrived, 
the  chapel  was  packed  to  the  doors.  As  the 
young  hero  stood  before  us  making  confession  of 
his  faith,  there  were  few  dry  eyes  among  us. 

One  of  the  signs  of  the  devil  priesthood  is  the 
unkempt  hair;  for  the  hair  of  the  devil  priest  is 
never  cut  or  combed  or  washed  from  birth,  and 
when  Potanna  took  off  his  turban  in  the  chapel, 
his  dirty,  matted  locks  fell  to  his  knees.  Mr. 
Posnett  stood  with  a  pair  of  shears  in  his  hand 
and,  as  he  picked  up  a  strand  of  the  hair,  he 
asked : 

"Are  you  sure  you  wish  to  part  with  this  ?  You 
know  it  means  all  your  worldly  wealth.  This  act 
of  yours  can  never  be  undone." 

293 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

But  the  boy  cried  out : 

"My  hair  may  be  Satan's,  but  my  heart  is 
Christ's !    Please  cut  off  the  hair !" 

He  was  baptized  "J^su  Rajahdass"  (The  Slave 
of  King  Jesus),  and  our  brave  lad  has  always 
proved  true  to  his  name. 


XXXVII 
FAREWELLS 

THE  year  drew  to  a  close,  and  with  it  my 
Indian  life. 

Amid  tearful  prayers  for  my  well- 
being  from  nurses  and  patients,  I  parted  from  my 
hospital ;  and  on  the  last  night  a  service  was  held 
for  me  in  the  chapel,  when  all  the  people  in  the 
compound,  English  and  Indian,  gathered  together 
to  wish  me  godspeed.  The  beautiful  gift  in 
which  they  all  joined,  and  the  words  of  affection 
and  gratitude  and  good  will,  made  me  almost 
powerless  to  steady  my  voice  as,  with  those  hun- 
dreds of  gentle,  loving  faces  before  me,  I  rose  to 
say  good-by. 

Christmas  Day  found  me  traveling  southward, 
and  a  day  later  I  was  in  the  Tamil  country — real 
Hindu  land — where  everybody  and  everything 
contrasted  strangely  with  Mahommedan  India — 
the  India  that  I  had  known  best.  The  people 
were  so  thin,  so  black,  so  scantily  clothed,  com- 
pared to  their  Northern  countrymen! 

From  my  'rickshaw,  in  Madras,  I  looked  with 

295 


JUNGLE    DAYS 

interest  at  the  public  buildings  and  general  street 
scenes  of  one  of  the  biggest  and  most  important 
of  Indian  cities;  and  my  homesick  heart  found 
joy  in  the  sight  and  smell  and  sound  of  the  ocean 
lapping  the  beach. 

At  Madura,  one  of  the  first  things  that  at- 
tracted my  attention  was  the  extreme  enlarge- 
ment of  the  women's  ear-lobes.  In  every  case, 
nothing  remained  of  the  original  lobe  but  a 
thread  of  skin  which,  surrounding  heavy  gold 
and  silver  jewels,  hung  to  the  shoulder.  The  lobe 
of  the  ear  is  cut  when  the  child  is  but  three  days 
old,  rolls  of  cotton  in  gradually  increasing  sizes 
being  inserted  for  one  year;  then  leaden  rings, 
one  after  the  other,  are  added,  until  the  lobes 
touch  the  shoulders,  usually  when  the  girl  is  thir- 
teen years  of  age.  The  ears  are  then  ready  for 
jewels. 

The  political  and  religious  life  of  the  South 
Country  Hindu  has  always  found  its  highest  de- 
velopment at  Madura ;  and  I  had  visited  the  city 
especially  to  see  the  Great  Gopura,  a  typical  and 
magnificent  specimen  of  Dravidian  architecture. 

I  stopped  long  to  view  the  exterior  of  the  Go- 
pura, where  pyramids  made  up  of  skilfully  carved 
figures — gods,  elephants,  horses,  lions,  peacocks 
—closely  crowded  and  of  gorgeous  color,  against 
a  background  of  red  and  gold,  climb  higher  and 

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FAREWELLS 

higher  until  lost  in  a  general  iridescence  against 
the  blinding  blue  of  the  Indian  sky. 

In  the  Choltry  or  "Hall  of  a  Thousand  Col- 
umns," where  once  the  pious  Tirumal  Naik  re- 
ceived at  stated  intervals  the  god  Siva  and  did 
homage  to  him,  noisy  merchants  displayed  their 
wares  of  every  description,  and  only  with  diffi- 
culty did  I  escape  their  importunities  and  see 
with  any  satisfaction  whatever  the  wonderful 
carving  of  the  four  rows  of  columns  which  form 
the  Choltry. 

However,  the  huge  dragons  and  other  figures 
of  stone  were  of  less  interest  to  me  than  the  mar- 
velous life  by  which  I  was  surrounded. 

With  freshly  made  caste  marks  on  face  and 
arms  and  body,  solemn  Hindus  passed  me  on 
their  way  to  the  quiet  corners,  where,  in  the  glim- 
mering half  light  of  a  smoky  lamp,  hideous  little 
idols,  bedaubed  with  paint  and  hung  with  flower 
garlands,  awaited  their  devotees. 

As  I  stood  bewildered  at  the  clamor  of  human 
voices  and  the  multiplicity  of  carved  figures,  I 
heard  the  sound  of  jangling  bells  and  glanced  up 
just  in  time  to  step  from  the  path  of  a  procession 
of  holy  elephants,  gaudily  painted  and  capari- 
soned, carrying  the  gold  bowls  of  bathing  water 
for  the  gods.  At  the  same  moment  the  worship- 
ers in  the  temple  crowded  forward  and,  touching 

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JUNGLE    DAYS 

with  awed  fingers  the  swaying  sides  of  the  great 
beasts,  fell  prostrate  on  their  faces,  lying  thus 
till  the  procession  had  passed. 

I  visited  the  famed  Great  Banyan  of  Madura; 
and,  although  not  particularly  charmed  with 
Dravidian  architecture  in  the  tiring  confusion 
of  its  detail,  I  drove  out  to  the  Teppa  Kulam 
Temple,  before  the  dying  sun  warned  me  it  was 
time  to  seek  the  shelter  of  my  hotel. 

It  was  an  ideal  tropical  night  —  blue  and 
dreamy  with  moonlight — when  from  the  deck  of 
our  comfortable  steamship   I  bade   farewell  to 

India. 

Before  me  lay  the  white  city  of  Tuticorin 
slowly  fading  into  darkness.  Farther  and  far- 
ther I  gazed  until  the  beyond  was  pierced  by  the 
light  of  memory  which,  shining  bright  through 
five  busy  years,  illuminated  the  trodden  path  and 
dispelled  the  few  black  clouds  which  still  hung 
low. 

Good-by,  my  India! 

Though  I  may  never  see  again  your  burning 
plains,  your  snow-crowned  hills,  your  sun-kissed 
children,  my  heart  will  always  hold  you  dear,  for 
you  have  given  me  the  greatest  blessing  of  earth 
or  heaven — peace ! 

(I) 


I 


AA    000  656  396 


